


Someone to Hold True

by NachoDiablo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang, Captain America Sam Wilson, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Minor Tony Stark - Freeform, Multi, Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson Friendship, POV Multiple, Pining, Polyamory, Recovery, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Touch-Starved, minor Sharon Carter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-21 03:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: Nearly three years after the Valkyrie wreckage was found, Bucky and Sam are settled in their new lives as an engineering student and Captain America, respectively. After a few years of casual hookups, they’re working out what, exactly, they mean to each other.Things get complicated when the Hydra assassin known as the Winter Soldier is discovered to be the original Captain America, Steve Rogers. They get even more complicated when all three men wind up isolated together in a safe house, working through the reprise of old feelings and realization of new ones.Or maybe it’s not that complicated after all.





	1. Sam - March 15, 2014

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeyBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyBoy/gifts).

> Written for the 2019 Captain America Big Bang. Thank you to the mods for all the hard work!
> 
> I’m excited to finally share this story! Collabing with [HeyBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyboy) has been a blast, I got gorgeous art and a hilarious partner to commiserate with, A+ experience all around.
> 
> All the thanks to [Leila](https://a-majesti.tumblr.com/) for the beta read and support, this story is infinitely better with your input, as always <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Title from “Pink + White” by Frank Ocean.

Sam groaned as he flopped backwards onto Nat’s couch. “Next time Stark texts me about alien invasion shit, I’m not answering.”

“That’s what you say every time.” Nat tossed a bottle of iced tea at his head, which Sam caught one handed. 

He unscrewed the top and propped his head up on the arm of the couch so he could take a swig without choking. “I mean it this time,” he said.

“That’s what you say every time,” Nat repeated in a deadpan tone. “And what do I tell _ you _ every time?”

Sam rolled his eyes and took another silent sip. He lifted his feet so Nat could sit down, then dropped his feet in her lap. Nat tapped one of his toes and smiled. “You love this,” she said.

“Yeah, well.” Sam shrugged. “Easy to love something when you’re this good at it, right?”

Nat pinched Sam’s pinky toe, and grinned wider when he flinched. He wriggled his foot from her grasp and nudged her ribs gently. “Don’t act like I’m lying!” Sam laughed. “You and I kicked ass out there.”

“Obviously.” Nat drank from her own iced tea bottle and leaned back against the couch. She shot Sam a knowing look but didn’t say anything further. 

She didn’t need to. They both knew she was right. Sam loved being Captain America. He loved strapping on his shield to save the world, of course, but he also loved the work that was done out of uniform. Even after three years, the thrill of having a kid stop him on the street to say hello and ask for a selfie hadn’t diminished in the least.

“You in a rush to head back to DC?” Nat asked. “Or are you planning to stick around New York for a few days?”

Her smirk was annoyingly smug. Sam narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be like that,” he warned.

“Like what?” Nat’s eyes blinked with false innocence.

“Like _ that,” _ Sam scoffed. “You think you’re slick. Getting ready to drag me when you’re even worse.”

Nat raised one eyebrow slightly, and Sam revelled in the joy of having caught her off guard. He raised his iced tea bottle and shook it. “How much did this cost? This is that artisan microbrewed shit. You only buy that for Sharon. I know she’s around here somewhere. Don’t act like you didn’t bring her up here with you to get in some quality hookup time.”

Nat’s face remained impassive as she sipped her own tea, but they had been friends long enough for Sam to notice the softness that settled around her eyes when Sharon was mentioned.

Nat licked her lips and screwed the top back onto her iced tea. She set it down on the coffee table and turned to fix Sam with an intense stare. “Sharon is my girlfriend,” she said bluntly. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

The shock of hearing Nat use the g-word, something she had never voiced aloud and had expressed disdain for multiple times, was enough to throw Sam off-kilter while he processed the second half of her question. The longer it took him to respond, the more smug Nat’s expression became.

“Listen,” he said eventually. “Bucky and I are… We have a good time.”

“I’m _ sure _ you do.”

“Don’t be nasty!” snapped Sam, even as he smirked. “It’s not that deep, we just… When we’re together, it’s great, but…” Sam shrugged. “He lives here, I live in DC.”

“And what happens when you’re in DC?”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Huh?”

Nat’s fingers drummed along the tips of Sam’s toes. “Do you go out with other people while you’re in DC?”

“Obviously,” Sam said irritably. “I’m not a hermit. You stalk all my friends on Twitter, you know that.”

Nat didn’t deny it. “I don’t mean going out for drinks with your boys and being home by ten because you all act older than your geriatric hookup. I mean, you and Bucky send corny texts constantly, and you don’t date anyone else. Hell, even if you trawled Grindr every night, you and Bucky would still fit the definition of a relationship. Monogamy is overrated.”

Sam didn’t bother asking how she knew the frequency and corniness level of his texts with Bucky. He didn’t want to know. 

Besides, it wasn’t like Nat was completely wrong. He and Bucky had been hooking up on and off for a few years now, and while Sam enjoyed what they had together, he did think about how nice it would be if he were able to see Bucky more often in person, take him out for dates rather than holing up in each other’s apartments, casually mention his boyfriend in interviews.

But that wasn’t something that could work right now. They each had their own life in their own city, and it was impractical for either one of them to make such a drastic move. And Bucky was happy keeping a low profile, tucked away in his lab with his research, away from the public’s prying eyes. Sam didn’t feel comfortable asking for more than Bucky was willing to give.

He heaved a sigh and wriggled his toes against her fingers. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” he admitted. “But we’ve got a good thing going on. We’re happy with the way things are.”

“If you say so,” Nat said with an idle shrug. 

“I _ do _ say so,” Sam replied, “so you can stop talking about it.”

Nat didn’t say anything more, but she did give Sam’s pinky toe an extra hard pinch. Sam ignored it and went back to polishing off his overpriced iced tea as quickly as possible.

He had dinner plans that evening, and he didn’t want to be late.

_ **Flashback: Sam, November 20, 2011** _

Sam kept up his casual swagger as he strolled past the plain brick housing in Fort Meade, but his jaw tightened as he slowly picked up his pace. A redheaded woman who had passed him three times was now coming up behind him on the sidewalk. 

Shit.

He’d swung by the base numerous times and never been made, but it seemed his luck had run out. The timing couldn’t have been worse. He’d finally managed to work out the security rotation for Building 301-A, and had been mentally calculating out the perfect time to make his move on his next visit.

Abruptly, he came to a stop and turned sharply on his heel. The redhead arched one eyebrow and smiled bemusedly as he fixed her with a level gaze.

“Well?” Sam kept his hands out to his sides, palms up and open. “You gonna take me in, or what? I won’t put up a fight.”

“Dramatic, much?” The redhead grinned as she rested one hand on her hip. “You doing something that’s reason for me to take you in?”

“No,” Sam shot back, “but this isn’t the first time I’ve been trailed while minding my own business. And I know damn well what happens when someone who looks like me argues with someone who looks like you.” 

Chagrin washed over the redhead’s face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking--”

“I know you weren’t. It’s not something you have to think about.” Sam paused, then added, “not that women don’t have their own shit to deal with, of course.”

“I get it, and I’m sorry.” The redhead’s contrition seemed genuine as she relaxed into a stance that was actually casual, rather than forced. “This isn’t what you think. I’m not a narc.” She held out one hand tentatively. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. Nice to meet you.”

Sam accepted her hand and shook it cautiously. “I’m Sam Wilson, but I got a feeling you already know that.”

“I do.” Romanoff seemed pleased as his assessment. “Samuel Thomas Wilson, USAF, 58th Rescue Squadron, star of Project Falcon, and owner of one sweet pair of EXO-7 Falcon wings.”

“Not anymore,” Sam shrugged. “Now I’m Sam, VA therapist and owner of one sweet DC Metro pass.”

Romanoff tilted her head to one side. “And what brings you to Fort Meade?”

Sam fought to keep his expression impassive. “Just visiting some friends.” It was technically the truth. His buddy Marcus was stationed here, and they’d had lunch together earlier that day.

“And do these _ friends _ reside in Building 301-A?”

A low sigh escaped Sam’s lips. “Look, what’s your endgame here? What do you want from me?”

Romanoff smiled, and this time it was genuine. “You’ve got quite an impressive resume. Multiple mentions for bravery and quick thinking under pressure. Extensive praise from every one of your superiors. An impressive show of loyalty from your former team. Not to mention stunning marks on all of your physical evaluations.”

“Yeah, I’m awesome,” Sam snarked. “That’s not news.”

“It’s not,” Romanoff agreed. “Have you been following the actual news lately, by chance?”

Sam blinked. “I mean, I’m not keeping up with Gossip Girl or whatever.”

Romanoff rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about a recently salvaged plane wreck. You’re aware of the details?”

The Valkyrie. Sam had indeed read about the discovery of the plane that had been taken down to save New York by the famed Howling Commando and best friend of Captain America, James Barnes. Barnes himself had been found alive somehow, though he hadn’t made any statements or been seen in public.

Sam’s expression must have conveyed his familiarity. Romanoff nodded to herself, then continued. 

“Seems like the shield was salvaged as well. Needs a new owner, though.” Romanoff raised one eyebrow and grinned. “You in the market for a job?”


	2. Bucky - March 15, 2014

Bucky hummed to himself as he slid the lasagne into the oven. He’d assembled it earlier that morning to let the flavors soak in. He wasn’t any sort of great chef, but pasta based dishes had been easy enough to master, once he’d figured out how to make a decent sauce.

It would be browned and bubbling right when Sam arrived, perfectly cooled for serving after appetizers. Bucky had painstakingly wrapped prosciutto around slices of melon, and arranged a variety of cheeses and crackers on a fancy plate that he’d picked up at a thrift shop.

Bucky closed the oven door and set the timer. He surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye. The garlic bread was laid out on a baking sheet, ready to be popped under the broiler at the last minute. The cutting board and salad spinner were in the dishwasher, and the salad was stowed in the fridge along with the appetizers. A bottle of Nickel & Nickel was open and airing on the counter. 

Everything was perfect, and Bucky had never felt more pathetic.

For a long time, Bucky had been fine with what he and Sam had together. They kept things casual, but the trust between them was warm and comfortable and  _ real. _ Sam was Bucky’s friend first and foremost; he’d easily gained Bucky’s devotion and respect, and it’d be damn near impossible for him to lose it at this point. 

Even if he didn’t want what Bucky wanted.

For one year, nine months and nine days, Bucky and Sam had been hooking up whenever the opportunity arose. There were no other expectations. Bucky had taken a long time to adjust to his new reality. The aftershock of Azzano, the train, the Valkyrie… It had been a lot to deal with.

There had been some buzz once Bucky had thawed out as to whether or not he would pick up the shield. Bucky had always known that wasn’t an option. He’d joined the army because his country had needed him; he’d joined the Commandos because Steve had needed him.

Bucky didn’t want to be a leader, and he certainly didn’t want to be an icon. Sam had respected Bucky’s choice to remain off the grid after the ice. And he’d been a damn good Captain America right from the start. Bucky knew that Steve would have agreed. Sam had that same self assuredness and ability to inspire people that had made Steve special.

But Sam had his own gifts as well. His sense of humor was more relaxed than Steve’s. He was better able to assess situations objectively. He was more comfortable with himself, the good and bad parts alike, and that translated to a humble confidence that was extremely alluring.

It had been inevitable, really, that Bucky would fall hard for Sam, despite his best efforts to keep things lowkey.

A loud rumble from Bucky’s phone alerted him to a barrage of texts. Bucky scrolled through a rambling chain of texts regarding a work project. Eventually, Bucky put his phone on silent and tossed it into the fruit basket. He loved his research, and was grateful to Tony’s team for letting him intern while he slowly earned his mechanical engineering degree at Columbia, but tonight was a Sam night, and he didn’t want to be distracted.

The sound of a key turning in the front door interrupted Bucky from his thoughts. He turned eagerly towards the door and smiled when Sam strode in, dropping his key in the basket and closing the door behind him.

“Hey. Something smells amazing.” 

Sam’s easy smile made Bucky melt a little, but he merely shrugged as he said, “It’s nothing. Just threw some frozen shit in the oven. You like freezer burn, right?”

“I love it,” Sam drawled. He smiled as he walked over and pulled Bucky in for a kiss. Bucky smiled as they parted. Sam looked tired, but happy. Bucky could work with that. 

Some days, Sam stopped by beat to hell, or downtrodden, or otherwise roughed up from the work that went along with being Captain America. Bucky never fussed too much. He trusted Sam’s judgement. Not to mention the fact that Tony was sure to fill in all the gruesome details after every mission, whether Bucky was interested or not.

He was more concerned with giving Sam as much support and comfort as he needed. 

Bucky wasn’t in DC as often as Sam came north, but he preferred it. He liked seeing Sam in his home space. Sam at home was different than the Sam who popped up on the television to explain how the recent Avengers battle against alien zombies was actually a scientific anomaly rather than a sign of the apocalypse. 

Sam at home knew his local food delivery people by name, and got chided by the owner of the corner bodega for not keeping his beard trimmed often enough. Sam at home had friends who dragged him for his less than majestic televised Cap moments and included Bucky in their jokes casually, as though they neither knew nor cared who Bucky was, other than someone important to Sam.

Also, Sam’s house was larger than Bucky’s apartment. Not by much, but enough for Bucky to have his own drawer in Sam’s dresser. 

“You’re early,” Bucky said lightly. “Trying to make sure I don’t eat all the appetizers before you get here?”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason why I’m here. The food.” Sam gave Bucky’s ass a squeeze as Bucky nuzzled against his neck. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a damn good chef by now. But…” Sam sighed and kissed Bucky again, gently. “It’s just… It’s good to see you. Been a while, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He tried not to read too much into how warm Sam’s smile looked as they parted. He moved to pour the wine, calling over his shoulder, “You got some time off, now, or what?”

“A few days.” Sam accepted his glass from Bucky and raised it in a toast. “Maybe through Tuesday? If you don’t kick me out before then.”

“I wouldn’t.” Bucky didn’t bother whipping up a snarky response. He’d never kick Sam out, no matter what. He couldn’t pretend otherwise, even as a joke. “You can stay as long as you like. You know that, right?”

Sam ducked his head as he swirled his wine glass. “Yeah, I know that.”

Their eyes met, and for a second Bucky would have sworn that Sam was thinking the same thing he was.  _ Don’t go. Please stay. I’m ready now, for something more. With you. _

Instead, the oven timer dinged loudly. Bucky jumped as he hurried over to turn the oven off and pull out the lasagne to rest. There was no point in dwelling about future possibilities that would likely not come to fruition. Bucky was focused on the present these days. And in the present, he and Sam were happy together as buddies who more-than-occasionally slept together. 

Anything more was a discussion for another day. Bucky wasn’t going to waste his melon and prosciutto on a breakup dinner.

Besides, he was lucky as hell to have Sam in his life. He wasn’t going to be the one to risk screwing up what they had, no matter how kind Sam was to him. Bucky had been given an unearned second chance already. He wasn’t about to waste hope on a third.

**Flashback: Bucky, November 3, 2011**

“Hey, soldier.”

Bucky’s shoulders hunched around his ears. He had known it was a bad idea to accept SHIELD’s apartment recommendations, but he had erroneously assumed that they’d maintain the illusion of respecting his privacy for longer than three hours.

He squared his shoulders and turned to face the couch in his miniscule living room. A redheaded woman lounged across it, clad in a black catsuit that clung to her curves. One hand propped up her head against the armrest as she coyly bit her lower lip.

Bucky forced what he hoped was a polite smile. “Good evening, ma’am,” he said in a pleasant tone. “What can I do for you?”

The redhead moved fluidly as she rose from the couch and undulated over to him, her eyes never leaving his face. “I’m sure you can do plenty for me.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want either of them to do anything. Eventually he cleared his throat. “You’re one of Fury’s, aren’t you. You don’t have to...” Honestly, he was too tired to have this conversation. They both knew why she was here. It was a waste of time to dance around it.

The redhead smiled and took another step closer. “You’re a smart one. I’m here on Fury’s orders, yes. But that doesn’t mean this has to remain solely a business meeting.” She reached out and rested a hand on his hip. 

“Fury  _ did _ ask me to check in on you, but I’m smart, too. I did my homework. You’re an impressive man, Sergeant Barnes. Saving the world, and being so humble about it.” She looked up at him through lowered lashes. “And you’re easy on the eyes, too.”

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I… um, I don’t want to offend, but…”

“It’s alright,” she whispered in his ear. “Things are a lot more casual in the future. You don’t have to worry about sullying my honor.”

Her hand was warm against Bucky’s hip as she leaned in closer. Bucky scrunched his eyes closed tighter as he tried not to hyperventilate. Maybe a few months ago-- no, not months, decades, it had been decades now-- he could have maintained his cool and deftly maneuvered himself out of the situation in a suave manner that didn’t raise any red flags.

But this was the future. He didn’t have to hide who he was, and more importantly, he lacked the ability to do so by this point. He’d lost too much already, and he’d only just moved into this wretched apartment, and SHIELD was still bombarding him with notes and offers and suggestions on how to live his life, and he just_ could not do this_ _anymore._

“Please stop!”

The redhead jumped back immediately, and gave him an appraising look. Bucky took a step back and shook his head frantically as he began to babble.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, it’s not you, it’s just that… well, I’m not… I’m not interested in… “

“SHIELD?” The redhead asked dryly. “Or me?”

“Both,” Bucky answered miserably. He wrapped his arms around his middle. “I’m not supposed to be here. It should have been Steve, but I-- I don’t want-- I can’t--” 

The change in the redhead’s stance was startling. She rested a hand on his arm, comforting rather than assertive. “It’s fine,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“You say that now,” Bucky muttered, “but I know how the army works.”

“Fury isn’t the army. And he holds the opinion of Peggy Carter in high regard.”

Bucky inhaled sharply. He had been told that Peggy was alive, but hearing her name spoken aloud still shook him.

The redhead inspected her nails intently. “You have options, you know. As do we.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Well,” the redhead said slowly, “we  _ do _ need someone to wield the shield, but there are several candidates that are significantly higher than you on the list. And they have the desire to do so, unlike you.”

Bucky bristled at the second half of her statement. She was correct; he had no interest in donning the Captain America title himself. He’d made that abundantly clear seventy-odd years ago. 

But that didn’t mean he’d stand by and let just anyone touch Steve’s shield.

The redhead gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “You were close with Howard Stark, weren’t you?”

Bucky shrugged. “We knew each other. He was closer to Peggy and… and Steve.”

“He’s got a son. Tony. He puts up the flashy playboy front, but he’s more than that.” Her fingers tapped lightly against Bucky’s arm. “Heard some rumors that you were a bit of a science nerd back in the day. If you wanted to pursue something different, get some schooling. There’s a place for you here.”

Bucky ducked his head in embarrassment. He was sure that Peggy had talked him up. Seventy years later, and she was still gracing him with her kindness when he had no right to it.

But there was an appeal to the idea of having a  _ place. _ He’d never had a  _ place _ before, other than what he’d shared with Steve. It hadn’t been what Bucky had wanted it to be, but it had been home. Bucky smiled shyly, and the redheaded woman’s face softened.

Maybe he could find a new home here. Eventually.


	3. Sam - April 10, 2014

“I don’t believe it.”

Nat looked up at Sam with red rimmed eyes as they stood huddled in the hospital corridor. “Believe it,” she said, her voice dull. “Fury’s dead.”

“I know that part,” Sam shot back, then cringed. “No, I don’t mean…” He reached out to rest his hands on Nat’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know what this means to you. Losing him. And you’ve gotta know what it means to me.”

Nat met his gaze unwaveringly. Nick Fury meant something different to each of them, but both Sam and Nat had known him as a man of his word who saw through your bullshit and recognized your worth, who gave you a chance against the objections of others.

Sam stiffened as Nat threw herself into his arms. She wasn’t one for the portrayal of extreme emotions. Sam didn’t comment, however. He patted her back as she stood with her head against Sam’s shoulder, breathing in and out, low and steady. No tears soaked into Sam’s shirt. 

Sam didn’t say anything for a few moments. He knew eventually SHIELD would come and ask too many questions. No point in rushing the inevitable. They could have this time to themselves.

“What about the shield?”

“Hmmph?” Nat mumbled into Sam’s chest. Sam tapped one finger against her shoulder to get her attention.

“The shield,” he repeated. “The person who caught it. Fury’s killer. What did they want?”

Nat looked up at Sam, her expression incredulous. “How would I know?”

“You know everything.”

Nat looked dubious. “Don’t know if that’s true any more.”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line. He and Nat were tight, but he was well aware that she kept some secrets close to her chest.

“Listen. You have got to tell me what’s going on. And don’t tell me you don’t know, because you know  _ something. _ You always do.”

Nat sighed and averted her gaze. “It’s… I’m not sure what’s going on completely. But I might have an idea about who killed Fury.”

Sam inhaled sharply. Nat squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to meet Sam’s stare.

“Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

Sam frowned. “So, he's a ghost story.”

“Maybe,” Nat shrugged. “Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.”

She lifted up her shirt to reveal a pattern of scars on the side of her belly button. “A Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.”

“So that’s why you always wear one pieces. So vain.” Sam tried to keep his tone light, even as he clenched his teeth and rested a gentle hand on her waist.

Nat rolled her eyes and pulled down her shirt. “Don’t be cute.” 

“Impossible.” Sam flashed a cheeky grin, but he quickly let it drop from his face. “Alright, alright. Let’s focus on what’s important here.”

“What’s important is that we’re at a dead end,” Nat said bitterly. “I know, I've tried to go after him. But like you said, he's a ghost story.”

Sam hesitated, then slid his hand into his back pocket. He pulled out the flash drive that Fury had slipped him before he died. He hadn’t let it out of his sight since. Fury had warned him not to trust anyone.

But he could trust Nat. Always had, always would. It was easy, no matter how hard she tried to make it.

Sam cocked one eyebrow and smirked. “I never did believe in ghosts.”

**Flashback: The Asset, April 9, 2014**

The Asset looked down at his hand. Flexed his fingers.

He had caught the shield.

It was what the Asset was supposed to do. Thwart the enemy. Stop things from progressing. He had caught the shield. He had halted the progression of the mission. This was a success.

It did not feel like one.

The shield had been heavy in his grip. It had reminded him of another time, when there had been enemies to fight and justice to pursue. There had been threats,  _ real _ threats, and he had rallied his troops with an empowering speech that they had laughed fondly at, even as they had cheered at the end.

He had wanted to take the shield with him, to fight, to roll in front of the man who threw it and protect--

He had caught the shield. It was what the Asset was supposed to do. 

But not this way.

The pain came quickly. The Asset’s eyes closed. 

It would be over soon. Allegedly. The Asset was not sure of what happened after the current moment. Perhaps the pain went on forever.

If it did, that was fine. It would be fine. Everything would be--


	4. Bucky - April 11, 2014

“And I’m telling you, ice pop, this is going to revolutionize the biomechanics industry. Big time. Huge.”

“You say that every month.” Bucky’s voice was soft as he smiled indulgently at the short man with the funky goatee who was waving his hands excitedly at the end of his work table. 

“It’s true every month,” Tony insisted. “You’re doing good work.  _ Excellent _ work. Better work than half the people with PhD’s in this building.”

Bucky raised one eyebrow. Tony shrugged and grinned.

“Alright, that’s a slight exaggeration. All my people are top notch. But you could be at their level in no time. You’d be there already if you’d skip ahead on your degree. Say the word, and I’ll hook you up with some independent studies that’ll knock out your credits in six months.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Bucky went back to his work. This wasn’t the first time Tony had suggested that Bucky should bypass the prerequisite courses of his engineering degree. He appreciated everything that Tony had done for him since he came out of the ice, but he could be overwhelming at the best of times.

Bucky had always been good with gadgets and machinery, and his talent for tinkering with things had transitioned into the twenty first century surprisingly well. He’d taken to modern tech with ease, and was a quick study on most everything in the lab.

But Bucky didn’t want to jump ahead too far. He had both the time and money for school now; he wasn’t about to rush through the experience. He was two and a half years into his degree, and at the rate he was going, he had about three and a half more left to go until he had enough credits to graduate. Then he could reevaluate and figure out what he wanted to do next.

Maybe he could look at graduate programs in the DC area.

Tony sighed as he leaned against Bucky’s work table. He idly tapped at his wrist, and a series of nanotech gloves clicked on and off his hand. 

“Looks good.” Bucky grinned as Tony’s gloved hand flipped him the bird. “Saw you on the news last week in the new suit. You’ve got a lot more flexibility.”

“Lay off the charm, Romeo, I’m taken. As are you.”

Bucky shot him a warning glare, but Tony merely whistled innocently as he fiddled with his glove. Tony didn’t usually tease Bucky about Sam, not since an ill-timed joke at last year’s New Year’s party ended with a bang bang shrimp shoved up his nose, but Bucky was always on alert just in case he needed to snap at Tony that he and Sam were  _ not a couple, _ thank you very much.

“Think I got the physics worked out so I can fly a lot faster, too,” Tony added in a not-so-smooth subject change. “Space travel is just a few suit upgrades away.”

“That’d be cool,” Bucky said wistfully. “Always wanted to go into space. Or fly, for that matter.”

“Don’t go bringing up the flying cars again,” Tony warned. “I don’t care what bullshit my father was spouting in the forties. Take it up with him the next time you visit his crypt.” 

He raised one hand and wriggled the fingers as the nanotech on his hand rapidly changed colors. “Flying cars are old news. I’m going above and beyond your wildest scifi dreams here.”

Tony stuck his hand out flat and a hologram appeared over his palm. Footage of the Avengers run-in last week with some wannabe masked villain and cronies played in 3D. Bucky paid particularly close attention to the part where Sam swooped in and tackled the ring leader from behind. 

Sam had barely missed getting shot with a laser. Bucky pressed his lips together as he mentally calculated out where the shooter had been. It wasn’t an angle Sam would have seen. His backup should have caught it. He’d have to mention it to Sam over text later.

Bucky shrugged and pretended to be unimpressed by Tony’s display. “Movies are okay, I guess. Get your ass to space and then we’ll talk about dreams.”

The footage shut off, and Tony moved to tap his fingers against Bucky’s work desk. “You ever think about it?”

“Think about what?”

“You know.” Tony waved his hand idly as the nanotech disappeared back into his watch.  _ “This. _ Avenging.”

“I turned down the shield when I came out of the ice,” Bucky chanted on auto pilot, “and I stand by that decision.”

“And a good thing, too,” Tony said bluntly. “Wilson’s the best Cap we could ask for. But you don’t have to be Cap to be on the team.”

Bucky blanched. “I don’t know…”

“That’s a yes,” Tony said with a satisfied nod.

“It’s  _ not  _ a yes,” Bucky retorted, but Tony shook his head and ignored his protests.

“It might not be a  _ yes, _ but it’s a lot less firm than the  _ hell no’s  _ you’ve been giving us for the past few years.”

Bucky didn’t reply as he studied his computer screen intently. Every time he thought Tony might be getting less annoying, he was proven wrong. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard a familiar voice pipe up behind him.

“You might want to look up the definition of  _ hell no.” _ Armand, Bucky's supervisor, slid into the chair next to him and peered at his notes. “Pretty sure you don’t go back for more once you get the first one.”

Tony huffed in annoyance. ”You’re making me sound creepy.”

“If it’s creepy, you’re the one who made it that way,” Armand said with a shrug. “Speaking of  _ hell no’s, _ did you check out containment room number five? Because I just did, and I can tell you that me going anywhere near that room again is a  _ hell no.” _

“Really?” Tony’s face lit up with excitement. “Looks like you’ll be deprived of my company for the rest of the day, Barnes. My brilliance and lack of gag reflex are needed elsewhere.”

Tony grabbed a coffee mug from the table and headed out of the lab. Bucky didn’t bother mentioning that the coffee mug in question was, in fact, his own. It was a small price to pay to get Tony out of his hair. Bucky liked Tony well enough, but he was a strong personality, and that could be exhausting.

He was glad that his main supervisor was Armand, a significantly calmer presence. Armand ran the medical R&D at Stark Industries. He was one of Sam’s friends who’d gone to Columbia, and he’d had some good insights while Bucky had been choosing his major.

Bucky had known that he was interested in mechanical engineering in general, but hearing about Armand’s work in biomechanics had fascinated him. Steve had always been ill when they were younger; learning about all the modern medical advances to improve people’s quality of life made Bucky determined to be a part of that future.

Armand leaned over and peered at Bucky’s computer screen. “Hmm, this looks interesting. You got some time to walk me through it?”

“Sure, just give me a sec. I’ve gotta send an email.” Bucky grabbed his phone and shot off an email to Sam as a reminder to them both to review the footage he’d seen later that evening.

“Take all the time you need.” Armand’s face remained neutral, but Bucky could tell that he was biting back a smile. 

Bucky averted his eyes as he finished up his email. Even though Armand had been Sam’s friend first, and for much longer, he was always respectful about keeping himself out of their business. Bucky appreciated the discretion, but he was well aware that even if Armand wasn’t  _ saying _ anything, he was probably  _ thinking _ it.

Bucky put his phone down, then sighed. He drummed his fingers on the table and glanced sideways at Armand, then back down at his hand.

Armand raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say, or are you just having a moment?” 

“I…” Bucky huffed in frustration. “Tony showed me a clip of the last Avengers mission, and I saw… Sam, he almost… “

Bucky fell silent and stared at his phone. He hazarded a glance over at Armand, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

“You know,” Armand said slowly, “whatever you’re thinking about doing, you could do it. If you wanted.”

“Yeah?” Bucky chewed on his lower lip. “You think so?”

“I  _ know _ so,” Armand said, “and so do you. You’ve got some sort of supersoldier serum running through your veins. You’re smart as hell. You’re a sharp-shooter. You could kick some serious ass, if you wanted to.”

“Maybe I  _ do _ want to,” Bucky admitted. “Never wanted the shield, still don’t. I’m not a leader. I got drafted and did my duty. Then I followed Steve, because he was  _ Steve, _ you know? It wasn’t because he was Captain America. It was… And then he was  _ gone, _ and then  _ I _ was gone, and then I came  _ back, _ but there wasn’t… it wasn’t the same.”

Armand nodded. “I get that. But what’s changed, then, since you came back?”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. “I got to know Sam,” he said in a low voice, “and Sam’s worth following.”

The sudden vibrations from Bucky’s phone startled them both. Bucky grabbed his phone; his chest tightened as he scanned his texts.

_ Sam <3: 911 i need u pls _

_ Sam <3: don’t reply we’ll find u when u get here xx _

Bucky pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up. “I’ve gotta go, I… have a thing.”

He was grateful for Armand’s lack of questioning as he gathered his things and ran out of the lab. He didn’t have time to think up false excuses for his sudden departure.

Sam needed him, and Bucky wasn’t about to disappoint.

**Flashback: Bucky, December 7, 2011**

The door to the coffee shop chimed as it swung open. Bucky’s eyes flickered up from his coffee to see a good looking man in a black leather jacket, whom Bucky recognised from the dossier Fury’s people had sent over. 

The man scanned the small space, then smiled when he spotted Bucky in the back corner. His eyes crinkled at the corners, warm and inviting. He strode over with an air of relaxed confidence, extending one hand as he got closer. “Hey, you must be James. I’m Sam Wilson. Good to meet you.”

Bucky debated saying something snarky about being kept waiting, but when he sneaked a peek at his watch, he saw it was still five minutes until four o’clock, their confirmed meeting time. Bucky had been waiting since three thirty, but that was his own fault for being obnoxiously early.

He stood up and grabbed Sam’s proffered hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Sam. And, uh, you can call me Bucky.” He pulled his hand back and gestured to the table. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you a coffee, what do you like?”

“Thanks.” Sam slid into his seat and peered at the menu. “I’ll take a large house blend with cream. And if they have the maple cinnamon rolls today, I wouldn’t pass one of them up. Even if they’re bigger than my face.” 

“We could split one, if you want?” Bucky wasn’t sure what possessed him to make the offer, but it was hard to regret it when Sam’s smile brightened.

Bucky went up to the counter to place their order, and soon they were settled back at the table, each with a coffee and half a cinnamon roll in front of them. They chewed silently for a few minutes. 

Eventually, Sam set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”

Bucky shrugged. He wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be talking  _ about, _ exactly. He was here at Fury’s request to meet the new Captain America, but beyond that, he wasn’t sure what sort of insight he was supposed to be providing. “It’s no problem. Congrats, by the way. On the shield, and… everything.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, and he seemed genuinely pleased. He shook his head and chuckled. “This is probably pretty weird for you, huh?”

“I guess.” Bucky grinned. “Not much weirder than anything else that’s happened to me lately.”

Sam laughed along with him, low and easy. Bucky liked Sam’s laugh. A lot.

“Alright,” Sam said as he shifted forward and folded his hands on the table. “I guess Fury wanted me to get a feel for the old school Cap vibes or something. I’m supposed to ask you questions. About Steve.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want to answer questions about Steve. Especially not questions on how to be Captain America. How the hell was Bucky supposed to know answers to questions like that?

All he could say was that Captain America hadn’t meant shit without someone like Steve Rogers behind the title.

Fury’s team had attempted to keep Bucky in the loop during the search for the new Captain America, but Bucky hadn’t been very interested. The few profiles he’d been sent seemed underwhelming. They’d been filled with the usual awards and accolades, of course, but nothing that had jumped out as particularly noteworthy.

Until he’d seen a handwritten note in Sam’s dossier, tucked away near the back of the folder.

_ 4 May 2002: Today’s mission was interrupted by hostiles; would have been a disaster if Airman Basic Sam Wilson hadn’t shown up with his team and ambushed them. They’d been instructed to maintain position, but Wilson took it upon himself to make moves. Seems he noticed something the rest of us didn’t. Project Falcon C-36 is still secure, which means a potentially severe international crisis has been averted, not to mention a significant amount of lives saved. When confronted with the fact that his actions could technically be grounds for a court martial, Wilson merely laughed and high fived Airman Basic Riley Alvarez. They both had further colorful commentary on the matter that is not appropriate to record in this memo, even if it is off the record. Conclusion: Wilson is a headstrong little shit and thank the Maker for that. _

Bucky had grinned as he’d read that note. He hadn’t responded to Fury’s requests for feedback, but he’d moved that note to the front of Sam’s dossier, where he knew Romanoff would see it.

He shoveled another forkful of cinnamon roll into his mouth to allow himself a few moments of chewing to figure out what he was supposed to say. Once he’d swallowed, he asked, “What is it that you want to know?”

Sam hesitated. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “I guess I’m supposed to ask, what was he like? What sort of things did he value, what made him a good Captain America? Or what sort of qualities he’d want a new Cap to have, or things he’d want to say to me. Stuff that’d, you know… give me some guidance.”

Bucky closed his eyes as a pang of pain shot through his chest. He didn’t want to think about what Steve would want to say to his replacement. He just wanted Steve to  _ be here, _ to be able to say it himself.

But Steve wasn’t here. No one was here. There was only Bucky left. 

Sam seemed to sense Bucky’s discomfort. He snorted and drained the dregs of his coffee. “Look, man, frankly I’m just happy to have the afternoon off. I’m here to enjoy some time out of Fury’s orbit, you know?”

“I believe it,” Bucky answered, grateful for the subject change. “SHIELD is intense. Must get annoying after awhile.”

“You’re damn right.” Sam nodded towards Bucky’s coffee cup. “You need a refill? My treat.”

Bucky tried not to look too eager as he pushed his empty cup towards Sam. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright.” Sam stood up from his seat and grabbed both coffee cups. “I’ll get us gassed up, then you can tell me about how the hell you managed to sneak out from under SHIELD’s radar. Maybe you can give me some tips on that.”

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed with a sly smile. “I’ve got plenty.”

He felt much more at ease as Sam made his way to the counter. He wasn’t ready to be grilled by Steve’s replacement. 

But maybe he was ready to meet a new friend.


	5. Sam - April 11, 2014

“We have to tell him.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Nat. “We absolutely do _ not _ have to tell him.”

“We do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” Sam’s frustration was growing as Nat stared back at him stubbornly. “We don’t even know if it’s what we think. I’m not getting him all upset before we--”

“Get who upset?”

Both Sam and Nat jumped and turned to face Bucky, who stood in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. Nat immediately shifted into a relaxed stance and shrugged her shoulder as she looked over at Sam disinterestedly. 

Sam hated when Nat pretended to check out of the situation. Particularly now, when it meant he’d have to be the one to lie to Bucky.

“It’s fine, baby,” he said swiftly with a smile. “We’re just trying to figure out who we can still trust at SHIELD. Give us a minute to debrief, okay?”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a cautious smile. “Sandwiches should be ready soon. Sharon’s real good at slicing the tomatoes evenly. And she found some fancy mustard. The kitchen is surprisingly well stocked for a secret lair.”

Sam perked up at that. “That sounds great. Worked up an appetite, nearly getting my ass shot off.”

“You always do,” Bucky deadpanned. The smile he flashed at Sam, however, was warm, and Sam was quick to return it before Bucky turned and headed back towards the kitchen. 

“Baby?” Nat asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Huh?” Sam was confused until he realized what she was referring to. “Oh, shut the hell up,” he muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course not,” Nat said lightly. Sam did not appreciate her knowing smirk, no matter how subtle she tried to make it. 

“Can we focus?” he asked irritably. “We just fought a so-called _ ghost story _ and barely made it out alive.”

Nat’s face fell. She reached out to grab Sam’s hand, then lead him out of the fort. They walked side by side for a few minutes in silence. Sam appreciated the fresh air. He let Nat steer him towards the bridge; he gripped the railing tightly as he took a few deep inhales. Nat stood a short distance next to him, with one hand resting next to Sam’s close enough for their fingers to brush against each other. 

It was comforting, to know that Nat understood. She wasn’t one to dissect her feelings aloud, but that didn’t mean she was a robot. Her support was understated but consistent, ever since the first time they’d met. 

“We don’t know that it’s him,” Sam said after a long spell of silence. “I know what I said when I saw him, but I was just startled. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It makes sense,” Nat replied with a forced lightness in her tone.

“How? Steve Rogers is dead. He’s _ been _ dead for decades.”

“They said the same thing about James Barnes,” Nat pointed out.

Sam didn’t have an answer to that. He wasn’t sure what made sense or not anymore. Fury was alive, SHIELD was compromised, Captain America was a fugitive, and they’d nearly been murdered by--

“You saw his face when his mask fell off,” Nat whispered. “You sat through history class as a kid. You walk by his portrait in the SHIELD lobby every damn day. You know it’s him.”

“I don’t--”

“You heard him talk.”

“I--”

“You saw how he moves,” Nat interrupted. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the railing. “Like a supersoldier.”

“He’s got that metal arm,” Sam said, knowing damn well he was grasping at straws. “Maybe he’s a robot.”

“A robot with Steve Rogers’ face?” Nat shot him an unimpressed look. “HYDRA doesn’t have a sense of humor. That was him.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Bucky went into the ice, and he survived. With Rogers, maybe the snow… I don’t know, preserved him, or something, and…”

They both fell silent once more. Sam wasn’t sure where to go from here. His dead childhood hero had just attempted to murder him. And his partner. And his partner’s girlfriend. And his boss.

And said murderer was his… was Bucky’s best friend.

Shit.

Nat bumped their shoulders together. “We’d better head in. I don’t want to miss dinner. And I want to check on Sharon’s arm. She said she was fine, but you know how she is.”

“She’s exactly like you,” Sam said. “Tough as hell. We’d have been dead for sure if she hadn’t had our backs.”

“Nah,” Nat said. “We’d have been alright.” She grinned at Sam, but he noticed how tense her shoulders were. Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug. She sagged against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured into her hair. “We’ve gotta tell Bucky. It’s not right to keep it from him. Even if it hurts.”

“You’re so wise, Cap.”

“I know it.”

Nat pulled back and squared her shoulders. “I mean it,” she said. “You’re a good man, Sam.”

Sam ignored the tightening in his chest. “Yeah, well. Easy to be, when I got myself surrounded by good people.”

“Sap,” Nat teased. She punched him lightly on his arm and grabbed his hand. “Come on. Food first, feelings later.”

**The Asset, April 11, 2014**

“The man with the wings. He knew me.”

The Director frowned at the Asset. “He did not. He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him.”

The Asset was supposed to agree. The Director was always correct.

But the man with the wings had said a name. He had held the shield. 

The Asset had lost his mask. He had been focused on taking out the redhead. He hadn’t planned for the man with the wings to engage, but the rest of the Asset’s team had failed, and so his plans had to be changed.

“The shield. I knew the shield.”

The Director’s face was blank, smooth. “You have come across many weapons. You’ve done extraordinary work for us. For all of mankind.” He walked closer, wearing a smile that was meant to be kind, but it did not reach his eyes. It never did. “You are quite literally changing history. People will want to stop you. They will attempt to distract you from your task, but I know you. You are stronger than that. You will resist.”

That didn’t seem correct. The Asset had not been distracted, not even when he had slipped up and lost his mask. It had been the man with the wings who had faltered. He had dropped the shield to his side, eyes wide and jaw agape.

_ Holy shit. That’s… Are you… Steve? Steve Rogers? _

The Asset had appraised the winged man with dispassion. Something flickered in the back of his brain, but he had remained focused.

“Who the hell is Steve?” 

A sharp pain flashed across the Asset’s face, pulling him from his memories. He balked inwardly as he realized he had repeated the reply aloud.

“What did you say?” The Director’s voice was cold.

The Asset blinked. His head ached, partly from the blow and partly from the memories that had started to swirl into his consciousness. “I… The man with the wings. He called me… “

The Director was staring intently. The Asset closed his eyes for a moment.

“Steve Rogers. Who is Steve Rogers? I know him, I think.”

“You don’t,” The Director said, but it was a warning rather than a statement.

The Asset was supposed to agree, but he couldn’t. Steve Rogers was someone he knew, someone the man with the wings knew, too. Steve Rogers had known the shield, and the Asset had known the shield. 

_ I don't want to kill anyone. I don't like bullies; I don't care where they're from. _

_ The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him. _

The Asset’s jaw tightened as he met the Director’s gaze unwaveringly. “The man with the wings. He had the shield. He _ knew _ me. Who is Steve Rogers?”

“Ugh,” grumbled a dark haired agent in the corner. “He’s so _ annoying _ when he gets like this.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” The Director said over his shoulder. He turned back to the Asset and smiled again, wider this time. Before the Asset could say anything else, a fist crushed into his nose with a sickening crack. Blood spattered across the floor as the Asset gasped for breath.

The Director shook his hand delicately and nodded towards the agents.

“Wipe him. It’s been too long.”

The Asset didn’t scream. He never did.

Not out loud.


	6. Bucky - April 11, 2014

Bucky glanced up from his book as Sam slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Sam sighed and leaned against the door as he looked over at Bucky quizzically. “What are you reading?”

Bucky sat up in bed and waved the book at Sam. “Nancy Drew and the Hidden Staircase.”

Sam let out a snort of laughter. “Branching out from your usual scifi?”

“Hey, it’s slim pickings on the run,” Bucky replied with a grin, which faded as he noticed Sam’s serious expression. “Is everything okay? Sharon’s all settled?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He stretched, then walked over to the bed and sat down gingerly. “She and Nat are holed up in the room across the hall.”

Bucky didn’t say anything as Sam stripped down to his boxers and slid under the covers. It had been a given that he and Sam would share a room. Bucky liked that, probably more than he should. 

He set the book down on the bedside table and snuggled down next to Sam. “Is everything set for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s eyes were trained up at the ceiling. “I think we’re good. We went over the plan enough times. Either it’ll work or it won’t.”

Bucky eyed Sam carefully. Sam was more tense than he’d ever seen him before, and he kept shooting sneaky glances Bucky’s way. Bucky chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he asked, “Are you okay with me joining? I know I’m out of practice with combat, but I’ve been brushing up on my shooting skills. I’m as good as I ever was. It’s like riding a bike. I can help. I  _ want _ to help.”

“I know you can, and I appreciate it.” Sam turned to lie on his side, facing Bucky. “You’ll be great.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bucky wasn’t normally so direct when Sam was anxious, but time was a factor. If there was something Bucky needed to know before their mission, he damn well wanted to know it as soon as possible.

Sam winced. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I need to tell you something.”

“Obviously.” Bucky fought to keep his tone light, even with his heart pounding out of his chest.

“This is serious,” Sam said firmly. He reached up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “The man with the metal arm who attacked us, the one Nat called the Winter Soldier… we think we might know who he is.”

Bucky frowned. “Is he a SHIELD guy? Do you know him from work?”

“No,” Sam said. “He’s, uh… his mask fell off, you know, so we got a good look at his face, heard his voice and everything, and…”

Sam trailed off. Bucky waited for him to continue, but he remained silent. Eventually, Bucky tapped a finger against Sam’s shoulder. “Well? Who is he?”

“Steve Rogers.”

Bucky blinked in confusion. “Steve’s dead.”

“So were you, at one point.”

“No.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No, what?”

Bucky pushed Sam’s hand away from his face and sat up abruptly. “Steve’s dead. I saw him fall. I  _ saw _ it! I saw it, and I couldn’t… and even if he wasn’t, he’s  _ not _ HYDRA. That doesn’t make any sense, he would  _ never. _ You’re wrong, you’re  _ lying, _ you’re--”

“Whoa, now, take it easy.” Sam’s voice was soft against Bucky’s neck as he wound his arms tightly around Bucky’s waist and pressed himself to his back. Bucky realized with a start that he was shaking, and hot tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Take a deep breath. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky took a shaky breath as he tried to gather his composure. He had to keep it together. Sam needed him.

But if this was true, Steve had needed him, too, and Bucky hadn’t been there.

He had let Steve fall, then gotten himself frozen for decades while HYDRA had found Steve and done something to him, torture or coercion, to turn him into a killer. Bucky knew damn well that Steve wouldn't have made it easy for them. He would have fought them until his last breath, and if he was somehow still breathing, well… 

Bucky didn’t want to think about what that meant. Not now, when Sam needed him. He would properly flagellate himself later, once this was all over, and Steve was subdued.

Or dead.

No, not dead. Bucky wouldn’t let that happen. But it wouldn’t be his call. He very well might be forced to watch, helpless, as Steve died again.

“Bucky. Talk to me, baby, please.”

The pet name, spoken so softly, ran through Bucky like a shot of whiskey. He closed his eyes and steadied his breath. “I’m okay,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Sam squeezed him tighter and rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t need to thank me. You’ve had my back through plenty of freak outs.”

A bitter laugh escaped Bucky’s lips. “Nothing as fucked up as this.”

“We don’t know for sure,” Sam said. “It makes the most sense, Occam’s razor and all that, but we don’t know.”

Bucky smiled sadly to himself. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

**Flashback: Bucky, September 3, 1940**

Bucky slid into the diner booth across from Steve. “Sorry I’m late. Mrs. Miller stopped me to talk about…” He frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Steve chuckled. “You got so many dames after you, you don’t even notice.”

“What?” Bucky’s sputtered. “Mrs. Miller is  _ married!  _ And my ma’s age!”

“She’s thirty two,” Steve said with one eyebrow raised. “Had her birthday last month. The cake was red velvet with real cream cheese icing.” 

“Right,” Bucky muttered. He felt his ears turn red, even as he shrugged his shoulders casually.

Steve leveled him with a knowing gaze, but said nothing. Bucky grinned, even as his stomach twisted.

Bucky got a lot of attention from women. He always had, it wasn’t news. It just wasn’t attention that was particularly  _ wanted, _ is all.

Not that he could explain to Steve why that was the case.

It wasn’t the part about preferring guys to girls. Bucky was pretty sure he could confess to Steve that he was in love with the street light on the corner, and Steve would support him.

It was the bit about how he was interested in  _ Steve _ that he assumed wouldn’t go over too well.

“I ordered you a Coke,” Steve said, “and a burger. No cheese, extra pickles. Oh, and I got you something else, too.” 

Steve leaned over to rummage through his satchel, then pulled out the latest issue of  _ Astounding Stories _ and pushed it across the table.

Bucky hoped Steve hadn’t noticed how his expression lit up as the magazine slid into his hands. “Thanks, punk. You didn’t have to do this.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It was one stop at the corner store, jeez.” 

It was more than that, and they both knew it. Bucky tried to keep his face neutral as he slid the magazine to the side of his seat. 

Steve was always taking care of Bucky, even when he didn’t realize it. Sure, there were things like this, where Steve shelled out his meager earnings for gifts, but it went beyond that. Steve remembered the movies that Bucky wanted to see, he clipped articles in the paper that he thought Bucky might be interested in, he  _ ordered _ for Bucky at the diner, as if they were--

But they weren’t.

And that was okay.

The waitress appeared and set their food down with a smile. Steve thanked her, then launched into a story about some art piece he was working on that was giving him trouble. Bucky smiled and nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Bucky had to focus on finding Steve a good girl. Someone nice who appreciated him, someone who would be worthy of all the love and attention Steve would inevitably shower on her. Bucky’s bond with Steve might not be romantic, but that did not diminish its strength.

He loved Steve, and he always would, no matter what form that love might take.


	7. Steve - April 12, 2014

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Steve.”

The man with the wings stood before the Asset, bruised and bloodied, but standing tall. His right wing was torn clean off, and his left was badly mangled, but the shield remained strapped to his arm.

_ Who the hell is Steve? _

The Asset shook his head. He had to remain focused. He took one step closer to the man, then another. The man had fought well, but he had sustained serious damage. The Asset could easily--

“You don’t have to do this, Steve. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

The Asset ignored the chatter. He struck quickly, but the man with the shield was nearly as fast and managed to block every blow. When the man with the shield stumbled at one point and left his leg exposed and vulnerable, the Asset went in with a kick to take out his ankle. The angle was perfect, the bone would snap and the man would be rendered immobile-- 

“Peggy and Bucky are alive.”

The Asset missed his mark. His boot smashed through the metal floor of the bridge as the ground shook beneath them. The carrier was going down. The Asset had limited time to complete his mission, and yet--

“Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes. They’re both still alive, Steve. They love you, they  _ know _ you. They both told me that you’ll do the right thing, and I believe them.”

The Asset staggered backwards. A dull ache thudded in the back of his brain. The man with the shield pulled his helmet off. One eye was swollen shut, and his neck was crusted over with blood from where a stray bullet had grazed him.

“You’re Steve Rogers, the OG Captain America. You mean a lot of important things to a lot of people. You were  _ my _ hero as a kid. But more importantly, you’re Steven Grant Rogers from Brooklyn. That’s just as important to Bucky and Peggy. Hell, it’s  _ more _ important.”

_ No! Not without you! _

_ Please don't do this. We… we have time. We can work it out. _

“I’m not him!” The Asset shook his head frantically. “I can’t be him, I’m not-- I don’t have-- This is my  _ mission! _ I have to finish it!”

“No, you don’t.” The man with the shield shook his head. “This isn’t you, Steve. I don’t know what HYDRA did, but  _ this isn’t you. _ It isn’t what you want. I see that plain as day.”

The man with the shield smiled. His teeth had a little gap, and his eyes were kind. He moved the shield to his side, though his feet remained planted in a defensive stance. 

_ I can do this all day! _

“Listen, I’m not going to kill you, Steve. But I’m not gonna let you kill me, either. And I don’t give up easily.”

_ I don't want to kill anyone. I don't like bullies; I don't care where they're from. _

Pain surged through the Asset’s brain and curled in his chest. He gritted his teeth as a wave of memories came flooding back, mixed with a horrifying realization.

This man with the shield wasn’t going to hurt him. The Asset had done his best to kill him, had been within inches of succeeding, and yet the man with the shield still wanted to help him.

_ Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man. _

“It’s okay,” the man with the shield said. His voice was low and soothing. “It’s okay, Steve, we can-- shit!”

The helicarrier lurched, sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They skidded across the floor, and a snarl of railing fell on top of them. Without thinking, the Asset threw himself over the man with the shield and took the brunt of the blow. The wind was knocked from his lungs, but he managed to shrug off the debris.

_ “Shit!” _

The Asset looked down in alarm. He’d managed to protect the man with the shield from most of the wreckage, but a sharp piece of broken metal had pierced his thigh. Blood flowed freely from the wound as the man with the shield gasped in agony.

Before the Asset could react, the carrier lurched again. The man with the shield slid the last few feet to the edge of the window and fell through the broken glass. The Asset scrambled over to lean out the window. The man with the shield hurtled towards the still water in a streak of red and blue.

It was probably a good thing that there was no time to think. Thinking was too painful at the moment. The Asset dove off the edge after the man with the shield, and let his mind go dark.

Hitting the smooth surface of the water was like falling into a tangle of electrified wires. Pain jolted through every single one of the Asset’s nerves, from fingertips to toes. He tried not to convulse as the freezing shock of the water enveloped him.

_ A week next Saturday at The Stork Club. Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. _

The Asset tried not to inhale too much of the river as he tread water and glanced around frantically. The man with the shield was nowhere in sight; the slight waves of the river rolled lazily, with no signs of disturbance.

_ The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him. _

He dove under and scanned the depths for any sign of the man who’d fallen. At first he saw nothing. Then the corner of his eye caught on a figure sinking into the depths, surrounded by a dark billowing cloud of crimson.

His lungs burned as he dove deeper. He’d forgotten to take a full breath before he submerged. It didn’t matter. He made it to the man in a matter of seconds. The man’s eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. The Asset-- Steve, his name was Steve, the man with the wings had said so, and he would not lie-- reached out his flesh hand to gently brush against the man’s cheek, cool and clammy. 

_ I’m not gonna hurt you, Steve. _

The cloud of blood was spreading. Steve had to focus. He was careful to be gentle with his metal arm as he pulled the man close to his chest and shot up towards the surface. They had limited time to get to shore and put pressure on the wound.

_ Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man. _

Steve had not been able to keep his promise, but he’d be damn sure to make up for it now.

**Flashback: Steve, November 4, 1943**

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” Steve asked with a forced air of levity.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Hell, no! The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him.”

Steve tried to take that statement as it was clearly intended. Bucky was his best friend. They’d always had each other’s backs, no matter what. And they loved each other. Maybe it wasn’t romantic, not the way Steve might have wanted, but it was steadfast, and Steve cherished it with every last bit of his heart.

He knew Bucky liked guys. He also knew that Bucky worked very hard to ensure that Steve did  _ not _ know that he liked guys. It stung to know Bucky was keeping something from him, but ultimately Steve respected Bucky’s privacy. It wasn’t as though Bucky didn’t have his reasons. Hell, Steve shared some of those reasons when it came to his own queerness.

He would have told Bucky, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up casually in conversation. Especially as the years went on and Bucky stubbornly clung to his flirty cover that Steve knew damn well he never followed through on.

If confessing to Bucky meant risking their relationship, whether due to Bucky’s self denial or his eventual connecting of the dots regarding Steve’s feelings towards him, well. That wasn’t a risk Steve was willing to take.

And with Peggy now in the picture, Steve was well on his way to loving her, too. His feelings towards Peggy hadn’t diminished his love for Bucky in the least. If anything, loving Peggy felt like his heart had expanded into something fuller, more complete. 

He knew that was probably selfish, so he kept those thoughts locked away.

“But you're keeping the outfit, right?”

It took all of Steve’s willpower to keep his elbow from sliding right off the counter. Bucky’s eyes glinted with mischief. Steve couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting down Bucky’s frame, but he quickly steadied his gaze.

Bucky couldn’t possibly want what Steve wanted, and that was okay. He still loved Steve with everything he had, and that was more of Bucky than Steve had any right to. They were lucky to have found each other again, and Steve was damn well going to savor every moment they had left.


	8. Bucky - April 12, 2014

Bucky peered through the scope of his gun out into the water. He was crouched in the top branches of a tree at the shore’s edge. His hands were steady as he adjusted his aim. A hulking figure emerged from beneath the surface, dark leather and flashes of metal. The figure straightened up, and Bucky could see it was a person, with another person hefted over their shoulder and in front of their face.

The figure staggered to shore and fell to their knees, but they didn’t drop the person slung over their shoulder. Instead, the figure leaned forward to carefully lay the other person down in the sand. 

It was Sam lying on the shore. Bucky could clearly see his face, but his uniform was unrecognizable, soaked through with blood and grime. It was unclear as to whether or not he was still breathing. Bucky stared intently at Sam’s chest, looking for the telltale rise and fall. It was there, ever so faint, and Bucky let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he’d be holding.

His eyes drifted upwards to the person who’d carried Sam, and Bucky nearly fell out of his tree.

Steve. It was Steve, without a doubt.

He looked exactly the same, and yet so terribly different. Dark circles under his eyes, pallid complexion, bedraggled blond hair that looked darker than he remembered, now that it hung long around his face.

But that face. Bucky would know his Steve anywhere, and this was him.

Bucky’s whole world lurched as he struggled not to throw up. He’d often dreamed of seeing Steve again, but this was no dream. 

This was a fucking nightmare. 

And it was Bucky’s own fault. He’d let Steve fall, after Steve had risked everything for him. He’d been to scared to confess his own feelings, and yet he’d denied Steve his happy ending with the woman he loved. Steve had saved Bucky, and in return Bucky had doomed Steve to whatever hells he’d been forced to endure over the last seventy years. 

Steve had always done the right thing, even when it wasn’t the wise thing, or the safe thing. He’d always shown kindness, even when the world had given him none. And yet Natasha had said that the Winter Soldier was a murderer. The best. Ruthless. Thanks to HYDRA. They’d surely done something evil to turn Steve into a monster. And HYDRA had only been able to get their claws into Steve because Bucky had let him slip away on the train.

Whatever blood was on Steve’s hands was on Bucky’s as well. 

Including Sam’s blood.

Steve’s face was blank, save for a worried furrow in the middle of his brow as he tore strips of material off his own uniform and pressed them against Sam’s thigh. Terror iced through Bucky’s veins as he realized that Sam was injured, and severely at that. Blood had started to seep into the sand around his thigh, and Bucky noticed for the first time how much of it was on Sam’s uniform, and on Steve’s hands as he applied pressure to the wound.

Bucky took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and took aim once more. With a silent click of his trigger, the tranquilizer dart flitted through the air and hit its target. 

Steve flinched and reached up to rub his neck, but before his fingers touched his skin, his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped over into the sand.

Steve’s eyes had barely closed, but Bucky had already slid out of the tree and run over to Sam’s side. He dropped to his knees and reached to move Steve’s limp hand from Sam’s wound. Steve’s hand was clammy against his own, but Bucky didn’t stop to let himself think about how he was touching Steve, his Steve, for the first time in decades. 

Bucky applied more pressure to the wound and pulled Natasha up on the comms. “Cap’s out of the water. St-- the, uh, Winter Soldier, too. We need medical assistance, fast. Like, now, right now.”

“We’re on it.” Natasha said calmly. “We’ve zeroed in on your location, we’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“We don’t have ten minutes,” Bucky snapped. “You’ve got to get here faster, I can’t… Cap is…” Bucky’s lower lip trembled. “Natasha, he’s… Sam’s hurt real bad, he might be... You’ve gotta come faster. Please. I can’t do this, I can’t lose him.”

There was a beat of silence, then Natasha’s clipped voice came over the comms. “We’ll be there in five.”

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief. He reached a shaking hand to cup Sam’s face, letting his thumb drag gently across his jawline. Sam looked like hell. Half of his face was dark with swollen bruising, his bottom lip was split, and his skin was dull and lifeless. His breaths were slow and shallow, barely there. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m _so_ _sorry,”_ Bucky managed to choke out before he collapsed against Sam’s shoulder, convulsing with sobs even as he maintained the pressure against Sam’s leg. Even if his heart crumbled completely in his chest, he would never let Sam down, not now, not ever, not while he had breath in his body. 

He’d failed too much already.

Hot tears flowed down Bucky’s cheeks, and he did nothing to stop them. His shoulders shook as he tilted his head upward to press a kiss to Sam’s collarbone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, please… please hang in there, I… I need… we all need you, please, if you can hear me,  _ please, _ I…”

As the sounds of a helicopter grew louder, Bucky closed his eyes and pressed closer against Sam, though he kept his ears pricked for signs of Steve stirring, in case the tranquilizer wore off and he needed to be subdued again. Bucky could have sworn he’d seen Steve’s eyes flicker a few times, and it was driving him mad, wondering who would be looking out at him from Steve’s eyes when he finally woke. 

But Steve was a problem for another day. Right now, Bucky was focused on making sure Sam remained stable. He would do whatever it took to save Sam. 

Because while Sam might need Bucky right now, Bucky would  _ always _ need Sam.

**Flashback: Bucky, June 7, 2012**

“Shit! That storm came outta nowhere!” Bucky laughed and pushed the damp hair out of his eyes.

“Global warming,” Sam said dryly. “Weather’s all over the damn place.”

Bucky and Sam had been walking to grab coffee after they’d finished lunch. Sam was in the city for a few days, and Bucky had been elated when Sam had texted him about meeting up.

Six months had passed since their first meeting. Sam had settled into his role as Captain America, and Bucky had started his classes in mechanical engineering at Columbia. He’d moved into a new, SHIELD-free apartment within walking distance to campus, and was hard at work on his degree.

After they’d split that first enormous cinnamon roll, their conversation had flowed easily. Bucky had confided that he was thinking about going back to school. Sam had a few friends who’d gone to Columbia, and Bucky had appreciated the feedback on the school’s plusses and minuses. 

Thanks to his experience in the Air Force, and the Falcon program in particular, Sam was mechanically inclined as well. Bucky had been fascinated to learn more about how Sam’s wings worked. Technology had come a long way over the last seventy years, and Bucky was eager to learn as much as possible.

He also found himself eager to learn more about  _ Sam. _ Sam was funny, and always ready to snap back a reply when Bucky ribbed him. He’d travelled around the world and had interesting stories to share. He was smart, but he didn’t make Bucky feel dumb for not knowing how to create a new contact in the iPhone that Romanoff had insisted he buy. He seemed interested in what Bucky had to say, even when Bucky didn’t think he was saying much of anything.

Bucky had left the coffee shop with two additional cinnamon rolls, Sam’s number, and the optimistic feeling that he’d made a friend. 

Over the next six months they had texted on the regular. They’d met up in person a few times when Sam swung through town. They’d traded war stories and dating horrors, childhood hopes and embarrassing moments. Eventually, Bucky had talked more about Steve, mostly about what a little shit he was and how much Bucky had loved him for it.

Not that he’d used that word. Bucky knew things were more open in the future, but he had kept that part of himself a secret for a long time. Besides, Steve was a national icon and prominent historical figure. It wasn’t Bucky’s place to talk about him like that, especially not to his successor.

The fact that Bucky thought Sam was extremely attractive made everything that much more complicated. 

And then there was the fact that at their lunch today, Sam’s dating disaster story had featured a guy as his partner.

Bucky wasn’t sure if this was great news or terrible news.

Sam had mentioned it casually, but his eyes had been trained on Bucky, as though he was checking for a reaction. Bucky had tried to appear nonchalant, but he was sure that Sam had not missed the small, pleased smile that had flitted across his face.

After lunch, as they’d headed towards the coffee shop, Bucky couldn’t help but notice that Sam walked closer than usual. Their hands had brushed together, and neither of them had made any move to pull away.

Bucky had been more than a little smitten with Sam for a while, but he’d quickly shoved those emotions to the back of his brain, just as he’d always done. He’d brushed off their flirtier interactions as being wishful thinking on his own part.

He’d never allowed himself to  _ want _ someone in that way, not seriously. There’d been the odd fumbling in the back alley every now and again, but the idea of having a relationship with a guy was not something that Bucky had ever thought would be possible.

And of course, there was the fact that Bucky and Sam both had busy, complicated lives, hundreds of miles apart. It wasn’t feasible for them to  _ go steady,  _ or whatever people called it these days. Bucky doubted he was even ready for anything serious just yet.

But it was the future, and Sam’s fingers were warm and soft against the back of his hand. Maybe, Bucky had thought to himself, it was time for him to take a chance and  _ ask _ for what he wanted, even if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it was he was asking for.

Then out of nowhere, the sky had opened up and a heavy downpour had begun to fall. They’d been forced to take cover under a storefront awning, laughing and soaked to the bone. Bucky felt carefree in a way that he hadn’t experienced in years, out in the rain with a kind, funny, adorable guy that he really liked, and who liked him back. Maybe as a friend, maybe as something different.

Bucky decided it was time to find out for certain.

Sam wiped the rain from his face. “Ugh,” he said as he plucked at the damp collar of his t-shirt. “Wet clothes are the worst.”

“You could borrow some of mine,” Bucky said. He cringed. It was confirmed, whatever suaveness he’d possessed prior to Azzano was long gone. “Sorry, that was… it’s just that my place is closer than Ms. Romanoff’s, if you wanna get dry faster.”

“You can call her Nat, you know,” Sam said with a smile. Which, no, Bucky could not. Sam and Romanoff were good friends, but Bucky remained wary of her ever since their first meeting. She was kind to him on the rare occasions they ran into each other when Sam was around, but she respected Bucky’s boundaries.

Bucky shrugged. “Anyway, offer’s on the table.” He gathered his courage and moved closer to Sam until they were standing in front of each other with mere inches separating them. “You can change at my place before we get coffee. If you want to.”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off Bucky’s forehead. “I want to.”

Bucky’s heart stuttered. He licked his lips, then leaned in quickly to press his lips against Sam’s. 

Sam returned the kiss, slow and easy, as his fingers traced their way down to the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky pulled away and grinned as he took hold of Sam’s free hand.

“Alright,” he said, feeling lighter than he had in months. “Let’s go.”


	9. Sam - April 14, 2014

A dull numbness thudded through Sam’s limbs as his eyes creaked open. His tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, and his lips were chapped and dry. He blinked, then looked around. He was in a hospital room, lying against starched sheets under the dull fluorescent lights. 

He looked down at his lap and saw a hand resting on the bed next to his thigh. The muscles in his neck ached as he turned towards the right side of his bed. Bucky sat slouched in a plastic chair. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted back to rest against the chair back.

Sam smiled weakly. “Hey,” he croaked. “You awake there, old man?”

Bucky’s eyes flew open as he straightened up and whipped his head around to face Sam. His shoulders slumped as he breathed out a sigh. “Finally,” he said as his eyes roamed over Sam’s face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Sam said. “You look good, though.” 

Both statements were true, even though Bucky’s hair was lank and greasy; dark circles rimmed his eyes and made them stand out against the unnatural pallor of his face. 

Bucky stood up and carefully settled himself on the edge of Sam’s bed. Two hands cupped Sam’s face as Bucky stared solemnly into his eyes.

Sam lifted his right hand, the one that wasn’t hooked up to IVs and monitors, and gave Bucky’s hip a squeeze. “Give it to me straight, doc, am I gonna pull through?”

“No,” Bucky said with a wry smile, “you’ve got a terminal case of jackassery.” He frowned, then pecked a light kiss to the tip of Sam’s nose.

“You’re good. Or, you will be. You lost a lot of blood, got some serious damage done to your left leg, but it’s all healing well. Tony sent his top medical people. You’ll be back to normal soon.”

“No doubt,” Sam said. “Cute nurse like you, of course I’ll make a rousing recovery.”

Bucky rolled his eyes even as he smiled. “I had to make sure you were being taken care of, didn’t I?”

“You always do,” Sam said. He hoped Bucky could sense the sincerity in his voice. Bucky was always there for him, whether it was taking care of him after missions, or offering tactical pointers, or goading him good naturedly to distract him when he needed to get out of his own head.

Bucky looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Sam had no doubt that Bucky had been stationed by his bedside for every minute that he possibly could.

“And everyone else is okay?” Sam asked. “You, Nat, Sharon, Maria? Steve?”

Bucky’s eyes widened as Sam said Steve’s name. He pressed his lips together for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Everyone’s fine. You’re the only one who got banged up real bad.”

Sam hesitated before he asked his next question. He didn’t want to upset Bucky, but he had to know what the hell was going on. “And what’s the, uh… What’s the deal with Steve? Where’s he at? Is he safe?”

“You… you want to know if  _ he’s _ safe?”

“I do.”

Bucky’s lower lip trembled. Without warning, he swooped in and began to press kisses all over Sam’s face and neck.

“Whoa, take it-- mmmpphh!” Sam’s protest was silenced as Bucky kissed him soundly on the lips. Sam kissed back with fervor, ignoring the aches and pains of his healing body as he wound both arms around Bucky’s waist.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed. “You’re gonna pull out your IV.”

“Worth it,” Sam mumbled against his lips.

Bucky kissed him once more, then pulled back. He chewed on his lower lip and averted his gaze.

Sam frowned. “Everything okay?”

“I want to be with you,” Bucky said in a rush. “For real.”

“Umm…” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. He was pretty sure he knew what Bucky was getting at, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Bucky looked nervous, so he rubbed his hand against Bucky’s waist to comfort him. “What do you mean, baby?”

_ “That’s _ what I mean,” Bucky replied. “You call me baby when you’re not thinking about it sometimes, but I want that  _ all _ the time. Even when we’re not together, I want to be  _ together. _ I know long distance sucks, but I wanna try it anyway, and… and…”

Bucky huffed under his breath as he scowled. “And I can’t  _ believe _ I had two whole days while you were unconscious to think about how to say this and I’m  _ still _ screwing it up.”

Sam took hold of one of Bucky’s hands and raised it to his lips. “You’re not screwing it up,” he said as he kissed the inner part of Bucky’s wrist. “I hear you. And I feel the same.”

The sweet smile on Bucky’s face was balm enough for even the worst of Sam’s pains. Bucky leaned forward to kiss Sam again, then pushed at his chest gently so that he was lying back against his pillows.

Sam tugged at Bucky’s wrist. “Lay with me?” Bucky stretched out alongside Sam on the bed, making sure not to put too much pressure on him as he rested a hand on Sam’s chest.

“So,” Sam said. “I guess we’re boyfriends now.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been boyfriends for a while,” Bucky mused. “We were just too obtuse to notice.”

Sam chuckled and closed his eyes. He let himself relax into the warmth of Bucky pressed against his side. “You ready to fill me in on what’s going on?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He ran his fingers lightly over Sam’s chest, tracing patterns to connect the dots on his hospital gown.

“Steve’s in a safe house,” he said eventually. “HYDRA did something to his brain, something to make him… do what he did. With trigger words, or... Armand and Helen came down from New York to take a look at him. Get his head right, check out his arm. I guess things are going well, but you know. It’s not just the technical stuff that needs to be looked after.”

Sam leaned his head closer to rest against Bucky’s. He couldn’t imagine what Steve must be going through right now. He’d seen firsthand how hard it had been for Bucky to adjust when he’d been thawed. Steve’s situation was… well, it was like nothing Sam had ever seen before.

“Natasha and Sharon are with him,” Bucky continued. “They’re helping him adjust, but honestly they’re laying low, too. What with SHIELD imploding and everything. Sharon says they’re all getting along, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to pry.”

“Makes sense,” Sam said. “Better to find out in person.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. He turned his head to face Sam. “I’ve gotta see him. He’s my… He’s Steve.”

“I know.” Sam nudged their noses together. “I’m coming with you. Soon as I get discharged. And get some pants.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkled the way it did when he was worried. “Sweetheart, you know that Steve and I… I wanted… but we never... “ Bucky shook his head and started over. “I wanna be with you, I wanna give this a real shot. You and me. No matter what. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Sam said, and it was the truth. He had long suspected that Bucky had harbored feelings for the Steve in his memories that were not-quite-platonic. 

But he was damn sure of Bucky’s feelings for  _ him, _ here and now. And Bucky was nothing if not loyal. 

“Good,” Bucky sighed. The corner of his mouth turned upward. “You’ll be okay? He tried to kill you, Sam. If you don’t want to go, we won’t.”

“I want to,” Sam insisted. “He didn’t try to kill me. I don’t know who the hell that was, but it wasn’t Steve. And I want to get to know the real Steve. The little shit from Brooklyn, your best friend.”

Bucky smiled, but his expression was sad. “I want you to meet him, too. If he’s still in there.”

Sam closed his eyes and rested his hand over Bucky’s. He didn’t want to make any false promises about how  _ of course _ the Steve from Bucky’s memories would be waiting for them at the safe house. Even if Steve’s memories were back, he wouldn’t be the same man that Bucky had known. And he wouldn’t be Sam’s childhood hero, either.

Whoever he was, Sam would be there by Bucky’s side to greet him.

**Flashback: Sam, October 20, 2013**

“You got a little something on your nose.” Bucky grinned and swiped a flour-dusted hand across Sam’s face.

Sam jumped out of the way, but he wasn’t fast enough. Damn supersoldier reflexes. He drew his face into a mock scowl as he wiped at his nose. “If this is what cooking with you is like, we can go back to ordering takeout.”

“This is  _ baking, _ not cooking,” Bucky said, “and it’s not my fault you’re so bad at it.”

Sam cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “This is not baking. This is a roll of store-bought cookie dough. I don’t even know what you got the flour out for.”

“That’s why you’re not a baker.” Bucky sighed with mock indignation. “Just you wait, uh…” He grabbed the cookie dough wrapper and squinted at the instructions. “Twelve to fourteen minutes, and then you’ll be praising my baking prowess.”

“Really?” Sam grinned and leaned against the counter. He grabbed Bucky’s hands and pulled him in closer. “That the only prowess you got?”

A wicked grin spread across Bucky’s face as he leaned in for a kiss. Sam promptly forgot about the flour on his nose as he did his best to get as much of the flour from his hands as possible onto Bucky.

The oven dinged as it hit three fifty. Bucky gave Sam one last kiss, then moved to grab the tray and slide it into the oven. He shut the oven door, then paused as his finger hovered in front of the timer button.

“You alright?” Sam asked as he wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

Bucky shook his head. “Yeah,” he mumbled as he punched in the baking time. He turned to face Sam with a guarded smile on his face. “It’s just… nothing.”

“If it was really  _ nothing, _ you wouldn’t say it was.”

“Thought you weren’t a therapist anymore,” Bucky grumbled, but he walked back to Sam and draped his arms around Sam’s neck. “It’s silly, is all. Just thinking about Steve. We got all this fancy tech in the future, but the stuff I wish I could share with him is cheesy shit like this. Cookies in a tube! Who’da thunk it?”

Bucky smiled bravely, but Sam noticed the way his lower lip wavered. He didn’t comment on it. He was Bucky’s friend and fuck buddy, not his therapist.

Instead, he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s collarbone. “I feel you. When the people you… care about are gone, you miss the little things. I still wish I could show off my newest flatscreen to a few folks, you know? It’d be sick to watch some classics on seventy five inches.”

Bucky’s smile softened into something genuine. “You’re thinking about Riley, right?”

Sam’s throat tightened as he nodded. Bucky was too damn observant sometimes. “Yeah.”

“He would’ve liked that?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. He had wondered what Riley would have said about whatever situation he was in more times than he could count over the last few years. The therapist in him said that Riley would tell him it was okay to move on. The masochist in him said that Riley would warn him not to forget him. The part of him that was desperate for validation said that Riley would be proud of him for taking up the Cap mantle.

But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Riley wasn’t here. Sam had to make his own choices.

And he knew what choice he’d make. Hell, he’d already made it, long ago.

“Yeah,” Sam said softly as he caressed the nape of Bucky’s neck. “He would.”


	10. Steve - May 15, 2014

The coffee scalded Steve’s tongue as he took his first sip, but he welcomed the sting of pain. He recognized it for what it was, acknowledged that it was unpleasant, and then put it out of his mind to focus on the deliciously bitter taste of the beans.

He glanced down at the open notebook on the table in front of him. A list of words was painstakingly written in blue ink along the lined paper.

_ The Wire _

_ Steve Jobs/Apple (technology) _

_ Caponata (Mrs. Romano down the hall used to make it every Sunday) _

_ MOMA (NYC, check exhibit schedule) _

_ Britney Spears / Justin Timberlake matching denim outfits _

_ Kerri Strug _

Steve stared at the list. He had been writing down things as they came up in the sparse conversations he had with the two agents who’d been assigned to his supervision. Natasha and Sharon, they'd asked to be called. The list was made up of mostly pop culture things, or details that he remembered from his past.

Anything historical was already covered in his afternoon sessions on the computer with Sharon. Every day at two o’clock on the dot, she sat down with him and reviewed a small section of what he’d missed while he was away. Sometimes she’d have specific things to instruct him on, sometimes she’d answer his ever-accumulating questions. Sometimes she’d point him towards a specific Wikipedia page and let him go off on his own.

It wasn’t intended to be an all-inclusive deep dive of the past seventy years. It was more of a general recap, as well as an exercise to ensure that all the wires in his brain were firing off as they were supposed to. 

Steve liked Sharon. She was kind, but no-nonsense. She’d answered all of his questions truthfully, as far as he could tell. She didn’t try to engage him in mindless small talk for the hell of it, but if they were both in chatty moods, they were able to converse comfortably.

She was Peggy’s niece, but neither of them talked about that fact. Steve wasn’t sure what there was to say about it. He had researched Peggy, of course. He had been pleased to see that Peggy had found a partner, raised a family, formed SHIELD. Regardless of what it had become, Steve knew that anyone other than Peggy at the helm would have delved the organization into chaos far sooner.

Not that he’d researched much of what had happened with SHIELD, and what his role had been. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Steve never spent more than a couple of hours in front of the computer. He got restless too easily. Too much pent up energy in his limbs, too many snarled thoughts in his head. He preferred to spend his time doing physical activities that kept the most intense pangs of guilt at bay.

Temporarily, at least.

The safe house was modest, sided with wooden board and nestled in the mountains south of Lake Tahoe. Sharon had informed Steve that it was owned by Howard Stark’s son, who was some sort of genius mogul, and was one of the most secure places in the country. It was a simple two-story, with an open concept living room and kitchen on the first floor, and three bedrooms on the second floor. The finished basement had been set up with a small office and a surprisingly well-equipped boxing gym, which Steve took frequent advantage of.

The house sat by a small lake with a smooth-as-glass surface. Steve spent many hours rounding the shoreline, lap after lap after endless lap. It was tedious in the most comforting of ways. 

Natasha would spar with him on occasion. At first, Steve had assumed she had a death wish; then he suspected some sort of trickery for an unknown nefarious purpose. Over the past few weeks that they’d been at the house, however, Steve had come to realize that while he might not fully understand Natasha’s intentions, she meant him no harm. And she was more than capable of holding her own against him.

Steve supposed that was part of why he’d been allowed to keep his metal arm. The doctors who’d come down from New York to DC to examine him before they’d whisked him away into hiding had given him the option to have it removed, but Steve had decided to leave it on. He was able to make his own choices now, and part of that was owning up to who he was and what he’d done. 

The trigger word situation was still not fully resolved, but that was going to take time. It wasn’t a large concern here in their isolated surroundings. Natasha and Sharon were far more dangerous than Sharon’s polite smiles and Natasha’s coy ones would lead one to believe. If someone got close enough to issue Steve’s trigger words, they were all dead already.

Ultimately, Steve knew damn well that if there had been any real concerns about the arm regarding anyone’s safety other than his own, he’d not have gotten the choice at all, which made him confident in his decision to keep it.

The creak of a door upstairs jolted Steve from his thoughts. That would be Natasha, he deduced. Sharon had already gone down to the office earlier that morning. He closed his notebook and took another sip of coffee as Natasha meandered down the stairs. She smiled as she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.

“Brushing up on the important stuff?” 

“Yes,” Steve nodded solemnly, as though they both didn’t know what sort of ridiculous things he recorded all day. 

Natasha smiled and took another sip. They sat in silence, drinking their coffee. Steve appreciated that both of the agents were fans of comfortable silences. As the serum stitched Steve’s brain back together, memories began to come back, first a slow trickle, then a rushing flood, and now a steady flow. There was enough going on in his head without forced small talk.

“Sharon’s downstairs?” Natasha asked casually.

Steve nodded. They both knew that Natasha already knew Sharon’s whereabouts. The two were inseparable, even in the rare instances where there was distance between them. Steve knew for a fact that they shared a bedroom. They didn’t try to hide it, and Steve knew from some of his stealthier research that there was less reason for them to hide it than there had been in his day. He’d been disheartened, however, to discover that seventy years later, so many struggles for equality were still being fought.

Natasha drained her mug and walked it over to the sink to wash it by hand, rather than putting it in the dishwasher. “We’ll have visitors arriving today. Bucky and Sam.”

Steve watched Natasha carefully, but she remained relaxed as she dried the mug with a paper towel. She did hazard a frown over at the basement door as she placed the mug on the counter. Steve had heard Sharon chide her for  _ using the same crusty mug all day, every day. _

Natasha turned to face Steve as she leaned against the counter. “You going to be alright? Need anything before they get here?”

“I’m good,” Steve said. It was as close to the truth as he could get. He had to be good. There wasn’t any other choice. Bucky and Sam were coming, and he would have to face both their expectations and his own.

There hadn’t been much to research on Bucky, not like there had been with Peggy. Bucky had saved the world, then he’d been locked away in the ice, then he’d been dug out, then he had been fairly low profile over the past three years. There were no magazine profile stories, no battles or heroics, no records of any relationships, just a handful of rumors that even Steve could tell with his absolute lack of context were false.

Steve had plenty of memories of Bucky, but he wasn’t sure which ones were real and which ones had been softened by nostalgia. He would have to assess this version of Bucky on his own merits. He knew that no matter who Bucky was now, Steve would continue to love him, just as he always had, in some form or another.

Sam, on the other hand, had plenty of information to pour over. Samuel Thomas Wilson, the second Captain America, renowned for his bravery and sharp wit, outspoken champion of multiple causes, and husband to no less than five thousand people, if Twitter could be counted on for reliability.

Steve had studied Sam’s photographs, taking in his smile, the warmth that radiated from him, even when his face was set in his patented serious Captain America expression. Steve had remembered the awkward photo shoots from his own past, the dismissal from his superior officers, the doubt that he’d ever amount to anything more than a novelty. He had glanced again and again at Sam’s magazine spreads and interviews, and wondered how someone could be so effortlessly confident.

Then he’d checked the Steve Rogers Wikipedia page, and had been taken aback by his own characterization. He’d been shocked to learn that the cheesy Man With The Plan slogan had somehow morphed into a serious depiction of Steve Rogers, self-assured hero who always knew what to do. That did not fit with Steve’s memories at all. He remembered being bullheaded, yes, but that was a very different thing. And he’d had to fight hard, with a great deal of help, to be taken seriously at all.

Steve wondered how much Sam had fought, what he had lost. He wondered what truths Sam was hiding from the rest of the world, what fears he still clung to, what frustrations plagued him at night.

He wondered what Sam meant to Bucky.

He wondered if Bucky was the reason Sam had spared him.

He knew that the Sam Wilson in the magazines wasn’t the  _ real _ Sam Wilson, not all of him. The real Sam Wilson had stood before a monster and smiled. He had shown empathy where none was deserved.

_ I can do this all day! _

“Steve? Are you alright?”

Steve looked over at Natasha. He realized that his hands were wrapped around his coffee mug in a dangerously tight grip. He loosened it immediately, grateful that Natasha had roused him from his thoughts before he smashed the mug to dust.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

The hint of pity in Natasha’s smile irritated Steve, but he could not blame her for it. He stood abruptly to walk over to the dishwasher and place his mug in the top shelf. He took his time washing his hands, then dried them on a paper towel printed with ducks.

“Yes.” Steve spoke down into the sink as he dried his hands. “I’m alright. I’m ready.”

It didn’t matter if it was true or not. They were coming either way.

**Flashback: Steve, April 12, 2014**

Steve’s eyelids fluttered as his brain swirled in a soupy haze. Sand had somehow snaked into every conceivable crevice-- between his toes, underneath his fingernails, along the rim of his nostrils, ground against his teeth.

He stifled a groan as he moved to sit up, then fell limp once more. The choked sounds of someone in distress distracted him long enough for him to focus on something else other than the omnipotent grit.

It was Bucky, he realised with a start. The recognition was instantaneous relief. Steve would know Bucky anywhere. He  _ should _ know Bucky anywhere. Things were blurred together in an unpleasant manner at the moment, and Steve was not completely sure where he was, or how he had gotten there, but he knew his Bucky when he saw him.

His Bucky lie hunched over another man, pressed against his chest. His sobs were muffled against the other man’s neck as he muttered something under his breath that Steve could not hear.

Steve took a minute to steady himself, even as he made an effort to keep his eyes closed and not breathe too deeply, lest he catch Bucky’s attention. It was an innate knowledge that this Bucky must not know that Steve was awake. 

Steve cracked his eyes just enough to peer at the man lying beneath Bucky. He nearly lost his composure when he realised that he knew this man as well. It was the man with the wings, the man who had spared him, then fallen, then--

“Please hang in there, I… I need… we all need you, please, if you can hear me, please, I…”

Steve could not stop his eyes from flying open as he heard Bucky’s frantically whispered words. Bucky’s face was screwed up in pain, along with the telltale forehead wrinkles that Steve knew from another lifetime’s experience were guilt.

Bucky was experiencing guilt because the man with the wings was injured. But it was not Bucky’s fault at all. It was Steve’s fault. He had not come back to himself fast enough, he had not maneuvered himself to block the falling debris at the correct angle, he had not grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand when he could damn well tell that Bucky was about to fall off the train himself in his haste to save Steve, he had not-- 

And despite all that, the man with the wings had smiled at Steve. Saved him, at the expense of his own life.

And now Bucky was hurting, blaming himself over Steve’s mistakes.

Steve’s teeth clenched together. The sand ground into oblivion between his molars. This was his fault. Bucky had tried to save him, and the man with the wings had succeeded in saving him, and yet they both suffered while Steve grew stronger with every breath.

The sound of a helicopter whirred in the distance. They were coming for him. Steve didn’t know  _ who _ was coming; he only knew that every instinct told him to flee.

But he wouldn't.

He would close his eyes and relax his muscles. He would pretend to be rendered fully unconscious. He would let himself be manhandled into whatever prison they had prepared for him.

It was the least he could do, and far better than he deserved. He’d do it for Bucky, and the man with the wings, without question.


	11. Bucky - May 16, 2014

The last few Cheerios floated aimlessly in the puddle of milk at the bottom of Bucky’s bowl. He poked at them with his spoon, keeping his eyes averted. Steve sat silently across the table with his own bowl. 

Bucky wished Sam was here, but Sam had left for his morning run before Bucky had risen. Steve seemed less guarded when Sam was around. Bucky was more relaxed as well; there was less pressure to fall back into their repartee with a third person around.

He hazarded a glance at Steve, who was watching him. A faint smile appeared on Steve’s face. Bucky returned it, then looked back down at his bowl.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard footsteps on the front porch. The front door opened and Sam walked in, sweaty and smiling. He kicked off his sneakers, walked over to Bucky and dropped a kiss on his forehead. 

“Hey,” Sam said with a smile. “You ate already? Is there coffee?”

“Yeah.” Bucky gestured to the full coffee pot. “And Steve made it, so it’s good.”

“Nice. I’ll shower first, but save me a cup.” Sam kissed Bucky again, then headed upstairs. Steve’s eyes followed him. Bucky pushed his chair back, but before he could get up, Steve was standing in front of him.

“I can get that.” Steve picked up Bucky’s bowl and brought it over to the sink along with his own. He rinsed out the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, then sat back down. The mutual silence continued.

At least it was more comfortable than their meeting last night. Bucky had gripped Sam’s hand tightly as they’d exited the car to greet Natasha and Sharon. Steve had lurked behind them. His hair was shorter than it had been on the beach, and he was clean shaven. But his eyes remained hollow as he’d zoomed in immediately on Bucky and Sam’s clasped hands.

Natasha and Sharon had left late that evening, to catch up with Fury and begin other classified adventures. Bucky had been doubtful about getting a decent night’s sleep, but Sam’s chest pressed firmly against his back and his deep, even breathing against Bucky’s neck had lulled him into a sound slumber.

“Alright, what’s for breakfast?” Sam asked as he returned to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Damn, you sure know how to brew.”

“Thank you.” Steve’s voice was quiet. “I’ve had practice.”

“I’ll bet. Nat’s sludge is undrinkable.” Sam rummaged through the cabinets, then walked over to peer into the fridge. “We don’t have eggs?”

“No,” Steve answered. “Should we?”

“Yes.” Sam shut the fridge door firmly. “Man, what have you been eating? All I see in here are protein shakes and chicken breasts.”

“That should answer your question, then.” Steve’s face remained stoic, but Bucky noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

Evidently, so did Sam. He cocked one eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Steve shrugged, but the ghost of a grin still played on his lips. “Natasha and Sharon didn’t cook much.”

“That’s cuz Sharon doesn’t eat anything that Seamless won’t deliver, and Nat would be happy eating cardboard if they put vitamins in it.” Sam sighed and narrowed his eyes in mock consternation. “Listen, if we’re gonna be here for a while, we’ve got to get decent food.”

“I’m a pretty good cook,” Steve protested. “I can make pasta. I can grill chicken. I can make beef stew.”

Buckty snorted. “You make beef stew? I highly doubt that, you--” He snapped his mouth shut. He’d been about to drag Steve for his shoddy cooking skills, but that was the old Steve. Maybe this new Steve had channelled his inner Julia Child.

“The instructions are on the can.” Steve folded his arms, looking smug. “I’m real good at following inst--” He cut off and looked down at his lap, pulling his arms tighter around his chest. 

Bucky and Sam exchanged concerned glances. Steve was harder to navigate than a minefield. Sam nodded at Bucky, and Bucky cleared his throat.

“That’s a boldfaced lie,” he said. “You ain’t ever been able to follow orders. You always go your own way in the end.”

Steve looked up with hope in his expression. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled, and his heart thrummed as the the worry smoothed from Steve’s face.

“Also, heating up canned food is  _ not _ cooking,” Sam interjected. “And it is  _ not _ how I’ll be eating for the foreseeable future.”

“Sames,” Bucky agreed. “Is there a grocery store around here, or what?”

“There’s an app,” Steve said. “Make a list and a flying robot delivers. It says StarkTech on the side.”

Bucky nodded. “We can work with that. Let Sam and me make up a menu for the week. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be better than whatever you’ve been used to.”

“Okay.” Steve glanced over at Sam, then back at Bucky. “But I’ll still make the coffee.”

“You better!” Sam took another sip. “I don’t know what beans to water ratio you’re using, but it’s working.”

A faint blush bloomed on Steve’s cheeks. Bucky couldn’t help but smile. Maybe part of his Steve was still in there.

**Flashback: Bucky, February 4, 1945**

“I don’t want it.” Bucky shook his head and took a step backwards. 

“You need to take it,” Peggy insisted. The dull light of the bar glinted against Steve’s shield, gripped between her fingers.

“Give it to Gabe. Or Morita. Dum Dum. Anyone.”

The stubborn set to Peggy’s jaw did not soften. “This isn’t meant for  _ anyone,” _ she said, and Bucky could hear the waver in her voice. “This is  _ Steve’s. _ He would want you to wield it. No one else.”

“I…” Bucky shook his head again. “I can’t. Peggy, I... “ He trailed off and gazed at his feet.

“Listen to me,” Peggy said, her voice firm. “We both love him. And we both owe it to him to be at our very best, even if it feels impossible at the moment.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up, but Peggy didn’t flinch at his glare. “This is our chance to change history,” she continued. “We can take down Schmidt once and for all. Steve would want you to pick up his mantle and lead the team.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s not modesty,” Bucky insisted. “It’s the truth. I’m not a leader. I’m  _ not _ like Steve, I’ve  _ never _ been like him.”

Peggy’s determined expression relaxed into a smile. “I’m certain that’s true. But I’m not asking you to be Steve. I’m asking you to be Bucky. The Bucky I know is a damn good second in command. And every second in command worth their salt can lead when they must.”

She took a few steps forward and pressed the shield against Bucky’s chest. “Please,” she whispered. “One of  _ us _ has to do it, and it can’t be me.  _ Please _ do this. For Steve and for me.”

The pain in Peggy’s eyes as she looked up at Bucky was palpable. Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath and slid his fingers along the cool edges of the vibranium.

“I’ll do it,” he said in a steeled voice. “I’ll wield the shield, but I won’t wear the uniform, or the title.”

Peggy breathed out a relieved sigh. She released her fingers from the shield, letting them brush against Bucky’s grip. “Thank you.”

Bucky set down the shield and gathered Peggy into his arms. She startled at the sudden show of affection, but quickly relaxed against his chest. Bucky hugged her closer. He could do what was needed. Pick up the shield, lead the team. 

But he would do it as Bucky Barnes.


	12. Sam - June 1, 2014

“On your left!”

Sam gritted his teeth as a blond blur whizzed past him. They were the only two people on the damn path. The only reason for such an announcement was to be an ass.

“On your left!”

“Are you for real?” Sam choked out. The loop around the lake was nearly three miles, and it had been less than ten minutes since Steve’s last snark. What sort of serum was this guy jacked with? It was something way more potent than Bucky’s, that much was certain. 

Steve was still something of a mystery. Sam got the impression that he wanted to say a hell of a lot more than what actually escaped his mouth. The guy was recovering from seventy years of brainwashing, but he was doing his best to appear calm and unruffled.

And yet he still surprised Sam with a dash of dry humor delivered with a straight face, or one of those guarded smiles that softened his eyes. He always seemed to know when Sam or Bucky needed a pot of coffee, and somehow the fluffiest blanket was always folded neatly on Sam’s end of the couch in the living room, often warm as though it had been popped in the dryer recently.

Sam and Nat had taken a walk around the lake to debrief once they’d arrived at the safe house. “I’m not sure how he’s doing,” Nat had confided. “He seems intent on moving forward, but I’m not sure how much he’s processing, and how much he’s numbing himself to.”

“It’s still early in his recovery,” Sam had said, “and it’s a hell of a lot to process.”

“Maybe too much,” Nat had agreed. “I know there’s plenty of shit in my past that’s-- you  _ can’t _ process it. You just accept that it happened, move on, and spend your whole life trying to make up for it and do better.”

“You’d make a great therapist,” Sam had teased.

Nat had given him an unimpressed look. “None of us are here to be therapists.”

“Damn right,” Sam had replied. “I’m here for Bucky. Anything more, and Fury’s gotta start padding my checks.”

Nat had grinned at that. “You feel good about the three of you managing on your own? Sharon and I have things to do-- stop it!” She’d smacked Sam on the arm as he’d wriggled his eyebrows. 

“I think you’ll do him some good, being here. And of course Bucky needs you, but… promise me, if it gets to be too much, you’ll leave.” A delicate hand had slid into Sam’s. “We’ll work something else out, but you’ve been through a hell of a lot too, Sam. You need to take care of yourself.”

“You’re worse than Bucky.” Sam had squeezed Nat’s hand, and they’d made their way around the rest of the lake in peaceful silence.

The dull thud of sneakers against packed dirt grew louder. Sam forced himself to pick up his pace, even as his lungs burned. “Don’t you say it!” he gasped.

“On your left-- oh!”

Steve skidded to a halt twenty feet ahead, but it wasn’t enough distance for Sam to brace himself. Despite his attempts to decelerate, he crashed into Steve’s chest at just under full speed.

Two strong arms gripped Sam’s shoulders, gentle but with enough give that he didn’t pull anything. “Oof!” Sam muttered against Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s normally guarded face was knit with concern.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled. He took a step back and shrugged his shoulders to release them from Steve’s grasp. “Just got a little… wait. Why’d you stop me?”

Steve looked down at the ground, then back at Sam. “You sounded distressed.”

Well, that was some cute shit. Sam felt bad for inwardly grumbling about Steve’s attitude, but only a little.

“I’m fine,” Sam said. “Just not used to running with super soldiers.”

Steve frowned. “What about Bucky?”

“Bucky doesn’t run, unless he has to.”

“Why would he have to?”

“He wouldn’t,” Sam laughed. A broad grin flashed across Steve’s face for a split second before his expression sombered once again.

Steve looked down at his feet. His hands rested stiffly against his hips as though he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His tight t-shirt left most of his metal arm exposed. 

Sam realized that when Steve’s hands had been on his shoulders, he hadn’t been able to tell the difference in their grip through his shirt. Sam hadn’t thought much about the arm. He was used to all sorts of prosthetics at the VA, and he knew that if there was anything to fear from the HYDRA version, Nat would have had it removed.

“I wanted to thank you,” Steve said in a low voice. He looked up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Sam blinked. “Thank me? For what?”

“For saving me.”

“Pretty sure you saved me,” Sam started, but Steve shook his head.

“Don’t. Please, don’t… You could have killed me. You  _ should _ have. And you didn’t.”

Sam didn’t bother contradicting him. It was the truth. He had been gentler with Steve than he would have been with a nameless nemesis. Instead, he shrugged and said, “I could say the same about you. And  _ you _ were the brainwashed one.”

Steve’s jaw hardened. “That doesn’t excuse anything.”

“I know.” Sam held out his right hand. “I’ll accept your thanks, if you accept mine.”

Steve took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Alright. But only if you accept an apology from me as well.”

Steve’s expression was wary, as though he expected Sam to protest. Sam was sure Steve had to be tired of being told what was and wasn’t his fault.

“Apology accepted,” Sam said with a smile. He noticed that Steve’s shoulders relaxed slightly when Sam didn’t offer any apology in return. “You wanna head back to the house, grab some breakfast?” 

Steve’s eyes brightened. “Burritos?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam bit back a chuckle at the elation on Steve’s face. Steve had taken to Sam’s breakfast burritos as though they were the best thing he’d ever tasted. Which might actually have been the case, now that Sam thought about what Steve had been eating before he and Bucky had shown up.

They walked towards the house, side by side, not speaking. Steve kept sneaking glances at Sam, which were surely intended to be stealthy. Sam caught his eye and cocked one eyebrow. Steve looked sheepish as he said, “I just… You’re a great Cap.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Sam smirked. “I saved your ass.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “I did my research. And I saw you in action firsthand. You’re everything Dr. Erskine would have wanted. I’m glad they chose you.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” It was surreal to have the original Captain America giving his blessing, like something straight out of his childhood fantasies. Better, even, because this was Steve Rogers, not Cap. Sam knew enough from Bucky’s stories that Steve Rogers didn’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass.

“I remember a lot,” Steve said abruptly, though he didn’t slow his pace. “More every day. Serum’s doing its job, fixing however they fried my brain.”

“That’s good.” Sam was surprised at the sudden burst of conversation, but he didn’t want to stifle it. He gave Steve what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“A lot of things I remember, they don’t match up with what I’ve read.” Steve kept his gaze fixed on the path in front of them, his hands curled into fists. “A lot of stuff got cleaned up. It was always that way, even back then.”

“The media tends to do that,” Sam said with a sympathetic nod. “For some people, anyway. Some people get the opposite treatment. I definitely did  _ not _ get a unanimous round of applause when I took up the shield, I can tell you that.”

“Yeah.” Steve said in a clipped tone. “I found some articles. And Reddit.”

He slowed down and took a deep breath. “They’re wrong about a lot of things. What if they’re wrong about everything?”

Sam adjusted his pace to match Steve’s. “Wrong how?”

“What if  _ none _ of the good stuff was ever me? Or if it was, what if it’s gone now?”

Steve had come to a complete halt. His face was impassive, but paler than usual, and his eyes brimmed with unasked questions.

Sam thought for a moment about how to respond. “Well,” he answered eventually. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ve got a fresh start now. You can be who you want.”

Steve looked out at the lake. He nodded, then smiled at Sam and started walking towards the house again. Sam had to jog a few feet to catch up.

“I think Bucky was talking about watching a movie today,” Sam said. “You’re welcome to join.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, his voice soft. “I’d like that.”

“Any requests?”

Steve looked bashful. “I… I heard the Hobbit was made into a movie.”

“It was,” Sam affirmed. “A trilogy.”

“Three movies for one book,” Steve mused. “I know they’re shit, but could we watch at least one?”

Sam laughed. “Who told you they were shit?”

“Natasha.”

Sam laughed harder. Nat was such a dork. She loved Tolkein, and tended to be overly harsh with the movie adaptations. “They’re alright. Not as good as the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but they’re watchable.”

“Ah, right. I heard he wrote more books. Haven’t read ‘em.” Steve flashed a wry grin. “Been surprisingly hard to find free reading time over the last seventy years.”

“Well, you’ve got the time now.” Sam nudged his arm against Steve’s, and for a brief moment, Steve’s face softened into something warm and relaxed. 

Sam liked the way Steve’s eyes darted down, then back up to peer at Sam through long lashes. 

**Flashback: Sam, May 15, 2014**

“I contacted all my professors,” Bucky said, “and Armand said he’d have someone stop in to water your plants and check your mail for however long we’re gone.”

“Thanks, baby.” Sam squeezed Bucky’s hand, which he’d been holding since they’d boarded the jet four hours ago. In a matter of hours, they’d be meeting Steve Rogers. Sam knew Bucky was stressed, though he tried his best to hide it.

Bucky had asked Sam several times if he was sure he wanted to come. Sam had assured him every time that yes, he was happy to tag along. He knew everyone assumed that Sam was there for emotional support, but truth be told, Sam wanted to know Steve Rogers. 

The guy had been brainwashed and ready to kill, and yet somehow he’d managed to break through his programming and save Sam. That was some impressive willpower. Sam wanted to know more about that man on the helicarrier. He wanted to know what that man had seen in Sam that had caused him to lower his defenses.

Bucky sighed. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but… Armand said Steve remembers me. Partly, at least. That’s something, right?”

“It is,” Sam agreed. “Doesn’t sound like you’re getting your hopes up. Sounds like you’re assessing the facts. Always be prepared, and all that.”

Bucky made a face, though he clutched Sam’s hand tighter. “I ain’t no boy scout, sweetheart.”

“Don’t I know it.”

There was no change to Bucky’s complexion that indicated he was blushing, but Sam could tell that he was, with the way he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders slightly.

“Armand said Steve called me a jerk.” Bucky’s eyes shone with unshed tears as he wrapped his free hand around the one joined with Sam’s. “That’s proof he remembers me.”

Laughter died in Sam’s throat. Bucky looked so damn hopeful. Sam couldn’t take that away from him. He smiled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “That’s a good sign, baby. And no matter what, I’ll be here for you.”

Bucky sighed and leaned against Sam’s shoulder, eyes closed. He pulled Sam’s hand into his lap and gave it another squeeze. Sam felt a rush of affection as he gave Bucky’s temple another kiss. It was a fucked up situation, sure, but Sam could handle it. Bucky had been there for him through innumerable missions gone to shit. And he loved Bucky, of course he’d--

He  _ loved _ Bucky.

Sam had a brief flash of panic, but it faded as soon as it had surfaced. Of  _ course _ Sam loved Bucky. Sam was certain that Bucky reciprocated his feelings. And he was equally certain that there was no need for any grand declaration. Sam loved Bucky. Bucky loved Sam. Those were facts that everyone who mattered already knew.

And Sam would do his damnedest to make an effort with Steve. For the sake of the man he loved.


	13. Bucky - June 14, 2014

Bucky yawned as he slid into his seat at the kitchen table. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.” Steve smiled from across the table. “There’s oatmeal, if you want some. It’s not good, though.”

Bucky eyed the crusty pot sat haphazardly on the stove. He noted that Steve had a half eaten Pop-Tart on his plate. “Nah, I’m not hungry yet. Just restless.” He yawned again, and Steve chuckled.

Bucky scanned his emails on his phone while Steve ate his Pop-Tart. He frowned at the amount of classwork that was piling up. He’d been slacking on his projects, and he knew he’d have to get back on track soon so he wouldn’t fall behind. 

Still, it had been nice to take a break. The past couple of weeks had worn into a sort of domestic calm for Sam and himself. No school, no work, no Avenging, just movies and cooking and lounging.

Surprisingly, Steve had found his own space in their dynamic. Bucky had worried that things would be awkward, but he should have known that Steve and Sam would get along like a house on fire. This Steve was a more guarded version, certainly, but his wry humor had survived HYDRA’s treatment, as had his kindness, so similar to Sam’s.

It was comfortable, the three of them together. There were still some sharp edges to work around, but overall, Bucky was happy, and he suspected the others were as well.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

Smiling at the familiar nickname, Bucky bit back the urge to reply with  _ you just did _ when he saw how somber Steve’s face was. He set down his phone and nodded. “‘Course you can. You can ask me anything.”

Steve hummed. “I guess it’s more of a tell, not an ask.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but he nodded again in encouragement.

“I loved you. Back then.”

Whatever Bucky had been expecting Steve to say, it wasn’t that. He was grateful that he hadn’t grabbed his coffee yet, because he’d surely have spit it out all over the table. “Um… what?”

“I loved you,” Steve repeated. His face was neutral, but his shoulders were tensed. “I wasn’t sure at first, if I was remembering correctly, but now I know. I loved you.”

“Sure you did.” Bucky forced a smile. “We’re best friends, Steve. Of course we love each other.”

If Bucky hadn’t been so focused on keeping his shit together, he would have laughed at Steve’s unamused expression. 

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” Bucky said honestly, “I don’t. You and Peggy were… what about Peggy?”

“I loved her, too.” Steve looked down at the table and smiled to himself. “I loved her very much.” He looked back up to meet Bucky’s gaze. “But can’t you love more than one person?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He took a few breaths and tried not to scream. Seventy years ago, he would have given anything to hear Steve’s confession. But hearing it now, from this new Steve, with Bucky’s beloved boyfriend asleep upstairs, was not inspiring any sort of happy emotions.

“You can,” he said eventually, “and… thank you for telling me, but… I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky snapped. “How do you tell me that and not expect me to  _ say _ anything? Why would you--” 

He shut his mouth when he saw the look of alarm on Steve’s face. Bucky closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the table. He held his breath for a moment, then exhaled as he opened his eyes. Steve’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were wide. He looked terrified.

Shame instantly flowed through Bucky. This couldn’t have been easy for Steve. He’d been so careful with his emotions; exposing himself like this must have taken a great deal of nerve. Bucky steeled himself as he gathered his thoughts to reply.

“I loved you, too,” he admitted. “I’ve always loved you, Steve. I always will, one way or another. But I love Sam. And yes, you  _ can _ love more than one person at a time, but Sam and I… we’ve built something together. I’ll always love you, but Sam comes first for me. No question.”

“Oh!” Steve shook his head wildly. “No, no, I wasn’t… Of  _ course _ Sam comes first! You and him… Bucky, he loves you so much, anyone can see that. And you take such good care of him, I would never ask you to…”

Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh. Okay, then.” His face relaxed into a genuine smile. “I’m happy,” he admitted shyly. “Never thought I could have something like this, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Things have changed. Well. Some things.” A small frown marred his expression. “Not enough things.”

Something in his expression tugged at Bucky’s heartstrings. Steve had known, back then, what it was like to want something you couldn’t have. He understood the gravitas of Bucky being able to hold Sam’s hand in public, but he wasn’t blind to the hurdles they still faced.

“I really can’t blame you,” Steve said with a note of teasing in his voice. “Sam’s quite a catch. He’s a little bit of a shit talker, but he’s… he’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Steve’s expression hadn’t changed, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. Bucky eyed them with suspicion. “Yeah, I’m a lucky guy. He’s real good to me. Easy on the eyes, too.”

Steve blinked, then looked down at his Pop-Tart crumbs. “Yeah, he… yeah.”

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face as Steve hastily stood up and carried his plate to the sink. 

**Flashback: Bucky, November 3, 1943**

“Sergeant. 32557…” 

“Bucky?”

Bucky smiled. He could hear Steve’s voice. That was a good sign. It would all be over soon, if it wasn’t already.

“Bucky? Oh my--”

The pressure of leather digging into his skin eased. Bucky blinked in confusion. Where was Steve? He’d heard his Steve, but the man looming over him wasn’t-- he was--

“Is that…”

“It’s me. It’s Steve.”

It was Steve’s voice, but it wasn’t Steve. This hulking blond man, wrapping his strong, sure arms around Bucky and hauling him up off the cot, he wasn’t--

“Steve?”

Those blue eyes, warm in contrast to the stubborn set of his jaw. The low timbre of that voice, unchanged. 

“Come on.”

Bucky sagged against the broad chest, relieved. Of course it was Steve; there had never been any need to doubt. 

There was no place Bucky could go that his Steve wouldn’t find him.


	14. Sam - June 16, 2014

Sam was polishing off the last of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch when Bucky stormed upstairs from the office. He watched in amusement as Bucky refilled his coffee thermos and rooted around the cabinet for the good brand of granola bars.

“Can’t believe these fools,” he grumbled as he shoved a handful of granola bars into his hoodie pocket. “S’like once you can do calculus you forget basic arithmetic… have to redo the whole thing now, the  _ whole _ thing… ruined probably… unless…”

Steve looked alarmed from his seat across the table, but Sam knew from experience that Bucky was just wrapped up in his school work. Sure enough, Bucky capped his thermos and stalked back towards the basement stairs, his scowl softening only when he paused en route to give Sam a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be working all day,” Bucky called over his shoulder. “You two’ll have to entertain yourselves ‘til dinner.” The basement door swung shut behind him, and the loud thud of footsteps gradually faded to silence.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Steve and leaned back in his chair. “Alright then. Looks like we got some time to kill. Any suggestions? We could binge watch another series?” Truth be told, Sam didn’t much feel like being stuck on the couch all day, but he was equally tired of looping the same running trail over and over, and he wasn’t sure what else Steve would be interested in.

Steve chewed on his lower lip as he mulled it over. “I… could we do something… different? I saw a map of hiking trails on the bookshelf.” He grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m getting a little restless.”

Sam chuckled. “I get that. Sure, we can go for a hike. I’ve never been around this part of Cali. I’d like to see the sights.”

“Same here.” The grin was still set firmly on Steve’s face. It was slightly crooked, giving him a carefree air that Sam liked.

After they’d changed into their hiking clothes, packed some water and snacks, and snapped photos of the maps, they were on their way. They chose a five mile loop that was noted to peak at a prime panoramic view of Lake Tahoe. 

As they made their way up the trail, Sam silently geeked out at the array of wildlife, particularly the birds. He’d seen an endless stream of mountain chickadees doing charming acrobatics in the branches. He’d seen a few western tanagers perched majestically in the redwoods. He’d even seen a red-tailed hawk circling above them.

It wasn’t just the birds that caught his eye. Steve was fun to watch, too. He looked like an overgrown college kid in his lightweight UCSC Banana Slugs hoodie and stunners pushed up on his head. He was more animated than Sam had ever seen him. They didn’t talk, but every so often Steve would nudge his right shoulder against Sam’s left, and point to something that had caught his eye. A lizard sunning himself on a rock, two squirrels tussling over a nut, an overtly phallic rock formation.

Sam stopped in his tracks as a large bird with a white head soared overhead. He inhaled sharply as he shaded his eyes with his hand to get a better look, but quickly sighed in disappointment and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Everything alright?” Steve had stopped as well, standing very still with his eyes focused on Sam, his shoulders tensed.

“Yeah,” Sam reassured him. “We’re good. I thought I saw a bald eagle, but it was only an osprey. Still cool, but...” He shrugged. “Should’ve known, it was too small. And it’s not the right time of year for bald eagle sightings around here anyway.”

“It’s not?”

“Nah, they show up around here in the winter, mostly. And even then, they’re rare.”

Steve squinted up at the sky. “I’ll keep an eye out. Might be neat to see one.”

The determined expression on Steve’s face, as though he could summon a bald eagle into their orbit at will, made Sam smile. “Well, you let me know if you do. But there are other cool birds that hang out around here.” He pointed to a brilliant blue bird with a black crest inching his way along a narrow branch while making a series of sharp, guttural squawks.

“Look at that little blue asshole. He’s a steller's jay. One of my favorites to read about when I was a kid. They can be little shits, snatching up people’s food and generally causing mayhem, but check that  _ style.  _ You can get cocky when you look that good.”

“He’s pretty sharp,” Steve agreed. “Not that I know anything about style.” He gestured towards his hoodie with a sheepish expression.

Sam hadn’t been sure what Steve would be like, once he got more comfortable around them. He knew from Bucky’s stories that Steve was headstrong and determined. Sam had wondered if that would translate to arrogance. Instead, there was an endearing dash of humility in Steve that made him feel like a real person, rather than the imposing historical figure from Sam’s childhood. Sam had been determined to treat Steve as normally as possible, but Steve had made it easy right from the start.

Plus he looked kinda cute when he did that golly-gee half smile routine. Not that Sam was thinking about him that way, but he  _ did _ have eyes.

Steve nudged Sam’s shoulder again and pointed towards the southern edge of the treeline. “Is that a bald eagle? It’s a lot bigger than the osprey.”

“Holy  _ shit!”  _ The words slipped from Sam’s lips before he’d fully formed the thought. “It can’t be…”

But it was. The nine and a half foot wingspan was a dead giveaway as the dark wings splotched with white soared through the sky with nary a flap. “It’s a California condor! Shit, I didn’t know we were in their range! We’re close to Pinnacles National Park, sure, but not  _ that _ close, right?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, sounding apologetic. “Are California condors rare, too?”

“They’re critically endangered.” Sam’s eyes remained pinned to the condor as it continued to glide with nary a flap of its wings. “At one point there were only twenty seven left in the whole world. It’s like they came back from the dead.”

“Relatable.”

Sam looked over at Steve, prepared to tease him, but Steve was…  _ looking _ at him, with bright eyes and a soft little smile on his face that Sam hadn’t seen before. It made something in his chest tighten, and he quickly looked back up at the condor one last time as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt embarrassed, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

“Sorry,” he mumbled eventually. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

“You like birds, huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s dorky. I’ll stop rambling. Don’t wanna bore you.”

“I’m not bored,” Steve said with a shrug. “I don’t think anything you could say would bore me. You’re… I like hearing what’s on your mind.”

Steve’s words filled Sam with a sense of wonder. He’d been so curious to meet Steve and see how this version melded with the versions from his history books and Bucky’s stories. The thought that Steve might be curious about  _ him _ as well hadn’t crossed his mind. It was flattering to know that Steve wanted to get to know him.

“I know dorky stuff, too.” Steve kneeled down and plucked something from the ground. “Flower meanings, for example. This is for you. It symbolizes eternal devotion and faithfulness.”

Before Sam could gather his thoughts, Steve thrust the flower into his hands with a beguiling duck of his head. Sam’s brain stuttered for a moment as heat started to rise in his cheeks. He opened his mouth wordlessly a few times before he noticed the beginnings of a shit eating grin on Steve’s face. He looked down at the flower in his hands, then burst into laughter.

“Steve, this is a fucking dandelion. It’s a weed, not a flower. And I’m willing to bet you don’t know shit about flower meanings.”

“It’s pretty,” Steve protested. “And it  _ could _ have a cool meaning. You don’t know shit about them, either.”

“I don’t.” Sam admitted. “But I  _ do _ know  _ you’re _ a little shit.”

“Maybe so.” Steve flashed another one of those smiles. “Maybe you are, too. That’s not bad, though, is it?”

Sam tried not to think about how cute that damn smile was. “Nah. It’s not bad.”


	15. Steve - August 21, 2014

“Zitti is not a word.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “It’s a kind of pasta.”

“I  _ know _ what ziti is,” Sam groused. “But it’s only got one ‘t’ in it.”

“Maybe I’m just using a more authentic version,” Steve said. “Or maybe they dropped the second ‘t’ sometime in the last seventy years. You know,” he added with wide eyes, “while I was captured and held against my will.”

“Fucks sake, punk!” Bucky called from the kitchen. “The ‘t’ is only worth one point! Stop guilt tripping Sam!”

Steve laughed as Sam scowled and plucked one of the tiles from the board. “Cheater,” Sam grumbled, but he was smiling. Steve liked the way Sam’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Steve liked a lot of things about Sam.

_ I love you. _

Heat rose to his cheeks as he tried not to think about  _ that. _ It hadn’t been meant for his ears. Or his eyes.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded. “I’m good.” 

It was the truth. Steve felt  _ good. _ His brain had done a decent job knitting itself back together. He still kept up with his daily research and emails with Sharon on things to check out. He ran every day, often with Sam. The three of them had started spending more time together, mostly watching movies and playing board games.

Living with Sam and Bucky was different than living with Natasha and Sharon. Sam and Bucky were easy to talk to, even if Steve still didn’t say much these days. They were more relaxed around Steve, which in turn allowed Steve to relax as well. The two of them kept up a steady stream of banter that was teasing, but in a soft, caring way. They often included Steve in their ribbing, just enough to keep him from feeling like a third wheel. It was safe and kind, and Steve loved sinking into their companionship as though it were a warm, fluffy quilt on a cold morning.

“Dinner’s ready, so clear away the Scrabble,” Bucky called from the kitchen.

Sam immediately stood up from the couch. “I’ll get the drinks, you clean up the game?”

“Sounds good.” Steve nodded and started to stack the tiles. He watched as Sam walked into the kitchen and made his way towards the fridge, stopping to give Bucky’s hip a squeeze.

_ I love you. _

Steve’s hands were steady as he folded the game board, but his pulse thrummed faster. He’d been thinking about  _ that _ for the past three days. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to get what he’d seen out of his head. 

Ever since he’d come back to himself, Steve had become practiced at putting unwelcome thoughts aside. He’d always been one to push forward, single minded when he had a goal in sight. That sort of attitude didn’t lend itself to dwelling on past failures. Hell, part of being in combat was knowing that even when you put forth your very best efforts, you could still be well and truly fucked through no fault of your own.

That mindset had been helpful while he’d sifted through exactly what he had done, and what had been done to him, over the past seventy years. There was no comfort to know that he had been brainwashed when he’d done those horrible things, but there was resignation, and grim determination to swallow down his guilt, move onward, and do better. 

He knew that eventually it would all come crashing down, but Steve wasn’t ready to begin any sort of meaningful processing just yet. He wasn’t even sure if there  _ was _ any way to effectively process seventy years of brainwashed brutality. For now, he was content to take comfort in remembering how to be human again. 

Bucky walked over to the couch and set down a plate filled with chicken parm sandwiches. Sam trailed behind him, juggling soda cans and glasses of ice.

“Who won?” Bucky asked as he went back to the kitchen to grab a stack of napkins.

“I did,” Sam said. “Steve cheats, so he’s disqualified.”

Steve frowned. “You cheated, too! I know you swapped out a tile so you could put down ‘exorcize.’”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get caught,” Sam said with a wink. 

_ Bucky, yeah, please-- _

The bag of tiles fell from Steve’s hand and spilled out onto the floor. He fell to his knees and gathered them back into the bag, hoping that the sudden scorching blush that had sprung to his face wasn’t visible.

“You two are something else,” Bucky laughed as he reached a hand out to help Steve off the floor. “Too damn similar.”

Steve froze, staring at Bucky’s outstretched hand. Similar. Bucky thought Steve and Sam were similar.

The thought had crossed Steve’s mind, too. So many of Sam’s mannerisms reminded Steve of his own tenacity. It was part of what had resonated with Steve on the helicarrier. But Sam was his own man, comfortable with himself in a way that Steve had never been.

Bucky, too, was in a better place than Steve had left him. The overdone bravado from Brooklyn had drained to a haunted shell after Azzano. This Bucky was quieter, but content in a way that Steve had seen only on rare occasions. He was the same Bucky that Steve remembered, without the brave-faced weariness that had weighed on him in the past.

“Steve?” Bucky sounded concerned as he stretched his hand out farther. “You okay?”

Steve blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I… I’m okay.” He took Bucky’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He focused on calming his thoughts as he put away the tiles and moved to the couch to sit down.

He hesitated when Bucky sat at the far end of the couch, rather than his usual spot in the middle. Before Steve could stress about where to sit, Sam snagged the middle cushion and grabbed a sandwich. 

“If you don’t sit down,” Sam said between bites, “I get your sandwiches.”

“Not if I get ‘em first,” Bucky said. “I’m the chef tonight, I should have first dibs.”

“You nibble while you cook. You’ve probably eaten at least a sandwich and a half already.”

“Maybe so.” Bucky snickered and grabbed his own sandwich. He looked up at Steve and smiled. “Have a seat and eat your fill before Sam beats you to it.”

Steve sat down on Sam’s left and picked up a sandwich. Bucky smiled at him over Sam’s shoulder, then started giving Sam shit about his movie selection. Steve was happy to listen and chew his food while they bickered good naturedly.

_ I love you. _

Steve decided that just for tonight, he would stop trying to forget what he’d seen. He’d stop trying to pretend as though it hadn’t affected him. Just for tonight, he’d lean into the emotions that had plagued him ever since he’d heard those words.

Just this once, just for tonight, Steve would allow himself to  _ want. _

**Flashback: Steve, August 18, 2014**

“Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

Steve froze at the bottom of the stairs. It was late, around three in the morning, and the ground floor of the house was pitch black. A quick glance at Bucky and Sam’s bedroom door before Steve headed downstairs had confirmed that it was still tightly shut. The voice was coming from the bathroom next to the kitchen, drifting out from the slightly ajar door.

“Bucky, yeah, please--”

The hitched voice was clearly trying to keep quiet. Steve hesitated. He didn’t usually leave his room once he turned in for the night. Things between the three of them were comfortable for the most part, but Steve tried to keep some boundaries. Every night, he went into his bedroom at midnight and did not emerge until five in the morning at the earliest. Even on the nights when his energy levels spiked and he wore out his carpet with pacing and push-ups, he remained confined until the designated hour.

Tonight, however, Steve had been desperate for some iced tea. The dry heat of the California summer left his throat feeling like sandpaper. After a solid ten minutes of sharpening his supersoldier hearing to confirm that Sam and Bucky’s room was silent, he had slipped out into the hallway and crept down the stairs.

Now, as he listened to the soft sighs and stifled moans coming through the door, he wished that he’d stayed upstairs and been satisfied with a drink from the bathroom faucet.

“I love you.”

Steve had been ready to turn around and head back up the stairs, but the quiet confession gave him pause. Sam loved Bucky. Steve knew this, but hearing Sam speak the words aloud caused something to tighten in his chest.

He took one step closer to the bathroom, then another. The door was cracked open just enough for his enhanced eyes to adjust to the darkness and see Sam flush against the wall next to the sink. Sam’s head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and his sweatpants were pulled down around his ankles. Bucky kneeled in front of him, shirtless. Sam’s fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair as Bucky sucked him off, lips wrapped around the head and hand jerking the shaft.

“I love you, baby.”

Sam’s eyes were open now, looking down on Bucky with a tenderness that made Steve’s heart ache. Sam loved Bucky the way Steve had wanted to love Bucky. Sam’s love was present, palpable, obvious to Steve from the first moment he’d seen them.  And it was reciprocated, evident in every touch and side glance and smile that Bucky shared with Sam. Sam, who was kind, and strong, and everything else that a person worthy of Bucky’s love should be. Hell, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to give their love to someone like Sam.

Steve held his breath as he crept backwards up the stairs, sans iced tea. He slid back into his room, closed the door, and laid down on the bed. He curled his knees into his chest, wrapped his arms around them, pulled them close. 

_ I love you. _

For a long time after he’d come back to himself mentally, he’d felt detached physically. What with the chronic illnesses of his youth, the serum, the loss of his arm as he bled out in the snow, he’d grown accustomed to being out of control of his own body. As he’d healed from the brainwashing, there had been a familiar disconnect between his mind, his body, his wants, his needs. Now that he’d found more of himself, however, all of his different facets were working together more often.

Being in close proximity to other warm, vibrant bodies, reveling in the steadying weight of an occasional hand on his arm through his shirt, or a shoulder bumped against his own; it was all becoming too much. He knew Bucky and Sam held back from showing him too much physical affection because he’d kept himself apart. They had respected his unvoiced request for space and autonomy.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to amend that request.

The tightness in Steve’s heart had become an aching pulse. Steve supposed that he ought to be feeling uncomfortable, or maybe jealous, at witnessing such a private moment. But the ache in his heart was a different sort of pain. It wasn’t coveting; it was a longing to reach out and touch, to feel what that sort of intimacy felt like.

_ I love you. _

Steve closed his eyes to keep the tears from falling. 


	16. Sam - August 26, 2014

The chill of the lake jolted against the heat of Sam’s skin as he jumped into the water. It was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the house. Why NorCal houses shunned decent insulation, and why Stark hadn’t sprung for central air, Sam would never know.

Bucky sat on the edge of the dock. His feet swished against the surface of the water. “You look freezing,” he called out to Sam. “I’m staying up here.”

“It feels good,” Sam replied as he did a few backstrokes. “And if you get cold, I’ll warm you up.”

Bucky smirked and rubbed his arms as though he’d felt a chill, even though they both knew his supersoldier serum’ed ass was just fine. He slid off the dock, and let out a contented sigh as his shoulders dunked under the water.

“You alright, Steve?” Bucky looked back over towards the dock.

Steve stood a few feet from the edge, wearing navy boardshorts, a grey rash guard, and a pensive expression. He nodded, and took a few steps closer to the edge of the dock. “I’m good.”

“You coming in?”

“Yeah.” Steve got close enough to the edge that the tips of his toes curled over the wood. Sam noticed that his rash guard, like the majority of his shirts, was fitted tightly to his chest. Sam wondered what Nat had been thinking when she’d ordered his wardrobe. He wondered if Steve had requested his preferred sizing, or if Nat had just been lax in her measurements.

Then Steve pulled off his rash guard in one fluid movement, and Sam stopped thinking about anything at all. Damn. Steve was cut like nothing Sam had ever seen. His chest and pecs were finely chiseled down to a trim waist and narrow hips. His left shoulder had some scarring around the prosthesis, but his shoulders were broad on both sides.

Steve didn’t seem self conscious as he did a shallow dive into the water, barely making a ripple as he sliced through the surface. His head popped up a few minutes later, and as he shook the water from his eyes, a relaxed smile bloomed on his face.

Relaxed. That was the right word. It was a good look on him, and it was a look that Sam was starting to notice more often. He and Steve ran together every morning these days, even if Steve did take a few obnoxiously speedy laps at first. They traded stories; childhood embarrassments, war stories, annoying Cap experiences. Steve always seemed to understand where Sam was coming from. It was like talking to an old friend.

The three of them were comfortable with each other these days, but Sam had noticed a growing tension. Sometimes he would catch Steve looking at him or Bucky, and be taken aback by the naked emotion in his normally controlled expressions. He’d revert back to his stoic self every time he noticed Sam watching him, but it left Sam longing to know what had been going through his mind.

Other times, Bucky would be the one caught with his lips pursed in thought, usually while Sam and Steve were together. Bucky, however, merely grinned with glee whenever Sam raised an eyebrow in question. Sam didn’t know what it was about those grins that made warmth rise to his cheeks.

Regardless, the pulse of restlessness in the house had become more palpable. The unseasonable heat wave wasn’t helping matters. The air hung thick and heavy in the house, even with all of the windows open and the fans turned up to full power. An evening swim was a welcome distraction.

Sam tread water and watched as Bucky did a backwards flip, circling otter-style and popping back up. “Wow,” Sam said playfully, “you got some fancy moves there. Didn’t know you were so-- talented.” He’d managed to stop himself from saying  _ flexible. _ He always felt awkward when things got too flirty in front of Steve.

Bucky’s snicker made it clear that he hadn’t missed Sam’s quick save. Sam scowled at his troll of a boyfriend as his eyes darted over to see if Steve had noticed, unsure as to why he was starting to feel uncomfortably warm again.

Steve’s derisive snort startled him. “Must have had a lot of practice lately. I still remember our Asbury Park trip in thirty-eight. You bopped yourself in the eye fighting off that seagull and fell off the jetty. Lucky your head’s so hard or you coulda done some damage.”

Sam burst into laughter. He swam closer to Steve and grinned. “Man, you’re alright. Even if you’re a little shit sometimes.”

“Right back atcha.” Steve’s eyes darted down to the water, then back up to look at Sam. 

Sam had been about to make another quip, but that  _ look _ had his breath catch in his throat. Along with a mouthful of water. He broke into a coughing fit as he struggled to keep himself afloat. Steve stuck an arm out, and Sam instinctively grabbed it to steady himself.

“Whoa,” Sam wheezed. “Thanks for the assist. You’re really…” 

He trailed off as he noticed Steve staring down at Sam’s hand wrapped around his forearm. His wide eyes, darkened to a polished midnight color in the nighttime lighting, remained unblinking. His jaw was set, but his lower lip trembled slightly, and his chest moved up and down in heavy breaths.

Steve’s skin was warm to the touch, though it was studded with goosebumps. The thick muscle was hard under Sam’s fingers, still as marble as it held up Sam’s weight without effort. 

“Are you guys alright together?” Bucky had appeared next to them. The question felt loaded, but before Sam could ask for clarity, scenes from last night’s conversation flashed in his mind.

_ Oh. _ So that’s how it was.

Sam glanced at Bucky, then focused back to Steve, who was now watching him with a curious expression. Sam gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his arm.

“Yeah. We’re alright.”

**Flashback: Sam, August 25, 2014**

“Steve’s doing well.” Bucky’s shoulders sagged against the headboard as though this was grim news.

Sam frowned and rolled closer to Bucky on the bed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his hip. “That’s great, right?”

“It’s amazing.” Bucky shimmied under the covers and sighed as he faced Sam. “He’s so… calm.”

Sam bit back a skeptical huff. “You sure about that?” 

Steve was quiet, certainly, and he did seem to be acting as normal as one could under the circumstances. Still, Sam knew that was not the sort of mood that could hold forever.

Bucky scowled and scooted closer to Sam. “I don’t know,” he mumbled into Sam’s chest. “I’m sure he has stuff to work through, but…” Bucky sighed. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” Sam asked. “He’s hanging in there. Sure, he’s got things to struggle with, but for now, he’s doing his thing.”

“That’s what I mean,” Bucky said in a small voice. “He’s… you  _ get _ him. You and Steve are the same. You’re both so strong and you just… you keep  _ going,  _ no matter what. Even when hurdles pop up, you fly over them, even if it hurts, and you just…”

Bucky fell silent, and Sam kissed his forehead. “Hey,” he murmured. “What's wrong?”

The bedroom was silent for a few moments, before Bucky blurted out, “I couldn’t do it.”

“Huh?” Sam’s face wrinkled in confusion. “You couldn’t do what?”

Bucky huffed against Sam’s shoulder. “You know.  _ This. _ Get my shit together, keep moving. All that. If I’d been the one to fall.”

“Baby,” Sam whispered as he held Bucky closer. “I get it, but… just because Steve isn’t throwing himself on a therapist’s couch doesn’t mean he’s not struggling.”

“I know,” Bucky said morosely. “But--”

“But nothing.” Sam nuzzled against Bucky’s hairline. “Steve’s handling things  _ his _ way. But baby, you’d be able to handle this, no question.”

“But look at what happened when I came out of the ice,” Bucky whispered. “I shut myself away.”

“You took your time,” Sam said, “and that’s fine. It’s why I love you. You took the time to work on yourself, and then when we got together, you were ready to handle my bullshit.”

“Mmmph,” Bucky huffed. “You got no bullshit, sweetheart.”

“I got plenty, and you know it. I’ve shown up at your door bloodied and covered in alien gunk. I’ve spent weekends wallowing in guilt from missions gone to shit, and you let me have my time. You sat with me and watched the entire House Party DVD box set after that school bus incident, remember? We didn’t say a word to each other for three days, because we didn’t  _ have _ to. You knew what I needed.”

Bucky’s eyes darted upwards to meet Sam’s. “I love you. I just want… I want to be as good for you as you are for me.”

“You are,” Sam assured him. “Without question. Maybe you handle shit differently than Steve and me, but--”

“Steve and you?” The smirk on Bucky’s face made Sam feel like blushing, though he didn’t know why.

“I mean, yeah, like you said. Steve and I, we’re… We’re on the same page.”

“You sure are.” Bucky seemed amused. “You two get along awful well.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And the three of us…” Bucky gestured vaguely. “We fit well together, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sam said without thinking, “of course we… wait, what do you mean?”

Bucky hummed and smiled to himself. Sam wasn’t sure how to interpret Bucky’s expression. Thankfully there was no need to as Bucky slunk deeper under the sheets with a wicked grin on his face.


	17. Steve - August 27, 2014

The stars started to blur, and Steve realised that he hadn’t blinked in a while. He rubbed his eyes, then looked back up at the sky. The heatwave had finally broken, but the house remained stuffy. Steve had dragged his mattress out to the yard so that he could cool off and attempt to get some sleep.

Cooling off had been achieved, but sleep still eluded him. He had too many thoughts swirling in his mind. He raised his right arm and let his prosthetic fingers brush against the skin where Sam had touched it last night. He could still feel the pressure of Sam’s fingers imprinting against him.

Steve knew he was being ridiculous. Sam had merely been trying to steady himself. It hadn’t meant anything. Not to Sam, anyway. For Steve, however, it had meant everything. It had been ages since he’d let anyone else touch him like that, skin to skin, for comfort. And Sam had been the one to reach out to  _ him. _ He had trusted that Steve would help him, and Steve had not betrayed that trust.

Steve had spent most of his time since then on his own, running endless laps around the lake, or researching with his headphones on. It was too much to interact with Sam or Bucky at the moment. Steve had been doing such a good job reigning in his feelings, but after last night’s swim, every smile or glance had Steve struggling to keep it together.

Steve was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the front door creaking open. He sat up and looked across the yard. Sam and Bucky were headed down the stairs, hand in hand. Steve tried not to think about how nice it would be to hold someone’s hand.

“Feels good out here.” Bucky smiled and took a deep breath of cool air. “Is it alright if we sit with you?”

Steve nodded. Sam and Bucky exchanged a measured look, then sat down on opposite sides of Steve. There was a long, comfortable stretch of silence as the three of them gazed up at the stars.

Eventually, Sam cleared his throat. “So, Bucky and I have been talking. And we’ve really… this has been nice, getting some time away, but also getting to know you. You now, not you from our memories or history books. We’ve got a groove going here, the three of us.”

Butterflies swarmed in Steve’s stomach. He kept his eyes focused up at the sky.

“I don’t know for sure what you’re thinking,” Bucky piped up, “but I can take a damn good guess. You’re caught up in your feelings, trying to figure out what you want, spinning excuses for why you can’t have it.”

Steve turned to glare at him, but the gentle smile on Bucky’s face shook his defenses.

“Steve, you and I have always loved each other. And seeing you and Sam together, watching you click like-- like soul mates or something. I know it’s not as easy as all that. I know we’ve got things to talk over, and I know you’ve got your own shit to work through. But the three of us, we could be good for each other.”

“I can’t, I…” Steve looked down at his lap and shook his head. “I’m not… better.”

“We know that,” Bucky said. “And if you don’t think you’re in a place where you’d want this, then that’s fine. We can wait. But if you’re telling yourself that you  _ can’t  _ want this, then that’s another story.”

Steve didn’t answer. He glanced sidelong at Sam as his shoulder nudged gently against Steve’s own. “You already saved me from drowning,” Sam said. “Twice, I might add. Probably a good idea to keep you around,”

Steve rolled his eyes while Sam chuckled. Sam’s hand reached out to hover over Steve’s. “It’s up to you. If you want this, so do we. If you don’t, it’s all good. It’s your decision.”

A breath caught in Steve’s chest. It was  _ his _ decision. After everything he’d done, Sam and Bucky still wanted him, and they trusted him enough to let him make up his own mind. He didn’t have to think any further; he knew what he wanted, what he’d  _ been _ wanting for weeks now.

His hand shook as he turned it so that their palms were facing each other. Sam laced their fingers together, gave Steve’s hand a light squeeze, and any remaining hesitations crumbled away. Steve gripped Sam’s hand tighter and let out a shaking breath.

Bucky reached up to brush his fingers against Steve’s cheek. The skim of knuckles against his jawline were like a jolt of electricity that lit him up and tethered him at the same time. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for this connection, and the fact that this was his Bucky and Sam, together, made it all the more gratifying.

Sam raised Steve’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it. His long, thick lashes shaded his eyes as he looked down. With a slight tremble, Steve pulled Sam’s hand to his own lips and let them brush against the warmth of Sam’s skin. Sam smiled, and Steve kissed his hand again, firmer this time.

“Can I…” Steve tilted his head and focused on Sam’s lips. Sam nodded as he leaned in. Steve ducked to let their lips meet. There was no hesitation; he kissed Sam as though he hadn’t kissed anyone in decades, which was the truth. He felt his dick harden as Sam sucked on his lower lip, and he let out a short whine before diving deeper into the kiss.

He felt Bucky trace kisses along his collarbone, sure but soft. The sensations of skin and breath and  _ love _ pressing against him had Steve seeing stars. It was a struggle to keep himself from becoming unglued, but then Bucky’s hand slid across the top of his thigh and started to creep upwards, and--

_ “Oh!”  _ Steve went taut as he came with a start in his boxers. Fuck, it was like a damn had broken as he gasped through the sensations. He pulled back and stared at his damp pajama pants as he caught his breath. It had been ages since he’d felt like this. Maybe he’d never felt anything like this, if he were honest with himself. He felt human again, connected with his body and his own self in a way that he’d forgotten, or maybe he’d never had it at all.

Sam kissed his cheek, and Bucky nuzzled against his neck. Steve had managed to catch hold of himself enough to have the embarrassment start to creep in, but before it could take hold, Bucky pulled off his shirt and slid out of his pants, with Sam following suit. Excitement rushed through Steve. He hadn’t ended things too early, things were evidently just getting started. He quickly shed his own pants and shirt, being careful to surreptitiously clean himself with his boxers as he did so.

He stalled for a minute, unsure of what to do next, but Sam and Bucky took the lead. Sam gathered Bucky into his lap and kissed him soundly. Steve watched with interest as Bucky’s hips moved against Sam and their dicks hardened. Bucky slid back off Sam’s lap, got to his knees and began to kiss Sam’s thighs. Sam let his head fall back with a sigh as he closed his eyes. 

Bucky looked over at Steve and gave a shy smile of encouragement. Steve felt his heart beat faster as he returned Bucky’s smile. They  _ wanted _ him. There was no need for words by this point. Steve didn’t hesitate as he scrambled across the mattress and sat behind Sam. He was careful as he stretched one leg out on either side of Sam’s thighs. Steve took a deep breath, then scooted forward so that Sam’s back was against his chest and wrapped his arms around Sam’s chest. 

_ This _ was what he’d been craving, the intimacy of being tangled together with another person, the silkiness of Sam’s skin under his fingers, the salty scent of his sweat beaded against his neck, the soft sighs that escaped him as he leaned back into Steve’s embrace. And then there was Bucky, who’d taken Sam’s dick into his mouth with fervor, even as his eyes remained fixed with Steve’s over Sam’s shoulder. 

Bucky worked the head of Sam’s dick with his tongue as he jerked the shaft with one hand and used the other to knead against Sam’s thigh muscles. Steve felt his dick start to swell against the cleft of Sam’s ass as he watched Bucky take Sam apart. Sam’s breathing hitched, and Steve hugged him closer. He carefully let his flesh hand trace along the contours of Sam’s chest and abs, while his prosthetic fingers circled one of Sam’s nipples and gave it a gentle tug. Sam moaned and thrust his ass backwards against Steve’s dick, and Steve ground his hips forward in response.

Bucky’s head began to bob faster, and Sam’s chest heaved as his breath quickened. Steve held Sam tighter and buried his face into the crook of Sam’s neck. His hips continued to move in shallow thrusts against Sam’s ass. Steve was nearly overwhelmed by sensation, the feel of Sam in his arms and the intensity of Bucky’s silver eyes boring into his own were more than enough to keep him present in the moment.

Sam’s pulse quickened beneath Steve’s hands. Steve watched as Bucky sped up his motions. Sam’s back arched like a bow, then collapsed against Steve’s chest as he came with a tremor. The sight of Sam’s come dotted across Bucky’s grin was enough to push Steve over the edge for a second time. He gritted his teeth as he spilled against Sam’s ass, his fingers digging carefully into Sam’s chest, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s blissed out expression.

Sam moved to the side to wipe himself off with one of their discarded t-shirts as Bucky sat up and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Still riding high from his orgasm, Steve crept forward and kissed Sam’s come off Bucky’s lips. Bucky returned the kiss, his fingers reaching up to twist in Steve’s hair. Steve eased Bucky onto his back and kissed his way down Bucky’s chest from heart to stomach. A strangled whimper escaped from Bucky’s lips as Steve’s hand circled his dick.

Steve pumped his hand a few times, unsure of what he wanted to do next. His old self had thought quite a lot about what he’d do with a naked Bucky in his grasp, but here in the present, he felt a little lost.

Sam settled down on Bucky’s other side. He reached out and placed a hand on Steve’s arm, and just like that, everything made sense again. Sam cupped Steve’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, which Steve returned eagerly, Bucky’s dick hard and leaking in his hand.

Bucky inhaled sharply, eyes wide as he licked his lips. Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, noticing that as their kisses increased in fervor, so did Bucky’s reactions. Steve made sure to keep his movements swift and steady as he worked Bucky over, relishing the way Bucky didn’t bother to hold back his gasps of pleasure. Steve bent his head to suck hard against Sam’s collarbone and it was all over. Bucky came with a shudder, wet and pulsing over Steve’s hand.

Steve pulled his hand away and accepted the sticky t-shirt that Sam handed to him. He wiped himself clean, then collapsed onto the mattress, pulling Sam down with him so that he was nestled between Bucky and himself. Bucky pillowed his head against Sam’s shoulder, and Steve curled around Sam’s left side. One of Bucky’s hands reached across to settle on Steve’s hip. The faint chirping of crickets was the only sound in the peace of the evening.

Of course they had things to discuss, Steve knew that.  _ Lots _ of things. But lying there under the stars, limbs wound together and hearts beating in rhythm, it was hard to feel anything but a bone-deep contentment. It felt as though they’d said quite a lot already, without the utterance of a single word. 

And they did have all night, after all.

**Flash Forward: Steve, August 28, 2014**

The sun had barely nudged its way over the horizon as Steve walked out to the front porch, three mugs of coffee clutched in his hands. He gave Sam and Bucky their mugs, then settled down in the space left between them on the porch swing. Bucky leaned his head against Steve’s left shoulder as he blew on his coffee. Sam reached one arm up to drape behind Steve’s shoulders as he took his first sip. Steve could see Sam’s fingers brushing through Bucky’s hair out of the corner of his eye.

“Nat called,” Sam said. “We’re all clear to come out of hiding. She was kinda cryptic, said there were some things that came out in your files that were pretty volatile. She said it might be best to wait until you’ve got a support system in place before you look them over.”

Steve knew that  _ support system _ meant therapy. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but the grounding weight of Sam and Bucky enveloping him made him determined to try. “Okay. Do we have to go back right away?”

“Nah,” Bucky mumbled. “Let’s take another week. I’m not ready to deal with school just yet.”

Sam gave Bucky’s hair a gentle tug. “Works for me.”

Steve took a sip of coffee, then frowned to himself. “Where would we be going back to? New York?”

“Probably,” Sam agreed. “Bucky’s there, and I can visit more often.”

“Actually,” Bucky countered, “DC might be better. Armand’s got a lab down there, and I can do most of my class work remotely. It might be nice for us to have a fresh start somewhere.”

“Well, we’ve got a week to hash it out.” Sam smiled against the rim of his mug. “But I’ve got a California king at my place, I’m just saying.”

Steve thought about Sam and Bucky sprawled out in a king sized bed, limbs wrapped together, leaving a space for Steve to join them. He took a deep drought from his mug, hoping that the heat of the coffee would excuse any flush that had formed on his face. The sun crept higher over the horizon, tinting the lake in brilliant shades of pink and purple.

A small knot of worry had started to form in Steve’s stomach. He was tempted to push it down and ignore it, but he gathered his courage and cleared his throat.

“What if this is a fluke? We’re… this is an isolated situation. What if it isn’t real?”

Bucky lifted his head from Steve’s shoulder and smiled. “Of course it’s real. We might be at the starting line, but it’s real.”

Sam set his coffee mug on the arm of the swing and tucked a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. “We’re in this together. Whether we’re here, or DC, or the damn moon. Home is home, you know?”

“And you two are home for me.” Bucky reached over to grab Sam’s hand as he kissed Steve’s cheek. “You promised me to the end of the line, punk. I’m holding you to that.”

Steve felt his heart beat faster as Sam and Bucky sipped their coffee without further comment. Maybe this  _ was  _ real. It certainly felt that way. And Steve never was one to hesitate before taking a leap. 

At least this time he’d have a California king to land on.


End file.
